'TATe  TaACHSRr  COUUttW 
;;ANTA  BARBARA.  CAL.ll 


.jos:^^ 


^p  Samuel  Caplor  CoIcrtUffc. 


LETTERS  OF  SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLE- 
RIDGE. Edited  by  Ernest  Hartley 
Coleridge.  With  i6  Portraits  and  other 
Illustrations.     2  vols.  8vo,  $6.00. 

ANIMA  POET/E.  Edited  by  Ernest  Hart- 
ley Coleridge.     8vo,  ^2.50. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO., 
Boston  and  New  York. 


ANIMA   POET^ 

FROM  THE  UNPUBLISHED  NOTE-BOOKS 
OF  SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE 


EDITED   BY 

ERNEST  HARTLEY  COLERIDGE 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

<Mc  iRAmsiije  press,  Cambridge 

1895 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


-TATS       "■*^*''^>^ 

"no 


When  shall  I  find  time  and  ease  to  reduce  my  pocket- 
books  and  memorandums  to  an  Index  or  Memorice  Memo- 
randorum  ?     If  —  aye  !  and  alas  !  —  if  I  could  see  the  last 
sheet  of  my  Assertio  Fidei  Christiance,  et  eterni  temporizantis, 
havmg  previously  beheld  my  elements  of  Discourse,  Locric,' 
Dialectic,  and  Noetic,  or  Canon,  Criterion,  and  Organ^on,' 
with  the  philosophic  Glossary  — in  one  printed  volume,' 
and  the  Exercises  in  Reasoning  as  another  —  if  —  what 
then  ?     Why,  then  I  would   publish   all  that  remained 
unused,  Travels   and   all,   under  the  title  of   Excursions 
Abroad  and  at  Home,  what  I  have  seen  and  what  I  have 
thought,  with  a  little  of  what  I  have  felt,  in  the  words  in 
which  I  told  and  talked  them   to   my  pocket-books,  the 
confidants  who  have  not  betrayed  me,  the  friends  whose 
silence  was  riot  detraction,  and  the  inmates  before  whom 
I  was  not  ashamed  to  complain,  to  yearn,  to  weep,  or  even 
to  pray  !     To  which  are  added  marginal  notes  from  many 
old  books  and  one  or  two  new  ones,  sifted  through  the 
Mogul  Sieve  of  Duty  towards  my  Neighbor  — by  'fia-rijcre. 
21  June,  1823. 


PREFACE 

Specimens  of  the  Table  Talk  of  Samuel  Tay-  preface 
lor  Coleridge^  which  the  poet's  nephew  and 
son-in-law,  Henry  Nelson  Coleridge,  published  in 
1835,  was  a  popular  book  from  the  first,  and  has 
won  the  approval  of  two  generations  of  readers. 
Unlike  the  Biographia  Literaria^  or  the  original 
and  revised  versions  of  The  Friend,  which  never 
had  their  day  at  all,  or  the  Aids  to  Reflection, 
which  passed  through  many  editions,  but  now 
seems  to  have  delivered  its  message,  the  Table 
Talk  is  still  well-known  and  widely  read,  and 
that  not  only  by  students  of  literature.  The 
task  which  the  editor  set  himself  was  a  difficult 
one,  but  it  lay  within  the  powers  of  an  attentive 
listener,  jjossessed  of  a  good  memory  and  those 
rarer  gifts  of  a  refined  and  scholarly  taste,  a 
sound  and  luminous  common  sense.  He  does 
not  attempt  to  reproduce  Coleridge's  conversa- 
tion or  monologue  or  impassioned  harangue,  but 
he  preserves  and  notes  down  the  detached  frag- 
ments of  knowledge  and  wisdom  which  fell  from 
time  to  time  from  the  master's  lips.  Here  are 
"  the  balmy  sunny  islets  of  the  blest  and  the 
intelligible,"  an  unvexed  and  harborous  archi- 
pelago. Very  sparingly,  if  at  all,  have  those 
pithy  "  sentences  "  and  weighty  paragraphs  been 
trimmed  or  pruned  by  the  pious  solicitude  of  the 
memorialist,  but  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that 
the  unities  are  more  or  less  consciously  observed, 
V 


PREFACE 

alike  in  tlie  matter  of  tlie  discourse  and  the 
artistic  presentation  to  the  reader.  There  is,  in 
short,  not  merely  a  "  mechanic  "  but  an  "  organic 
regularity  "  in  the  composition  of  the  work  as  a 
whole.  A  "  myriad-minded  "  sage,  who  has  seen 
men  and  cities,  who  has  read  widely  and  shaped 
his  thoughts  in  a  peculiar  mould,  is  pouring  out 
his  stores  of  knowledge,  the  garnered  fruit  of  a 
life  of  study  and  meditation,  for  the  benefit  of  an 
apt  learner,  a  discreet  and  appreciative  disciple. 
A  day  comes  when  the  marvellous  lips  are  con- 
strained to  an  endless  silence,  and  it  becomes 
the  duty  and  privilege  of  the  beloved  and  hon- 
ored pupil  to  "  snatch  from  forgetf ulness  "  and 
to  hand  down  to  posterity  the  great  tradition  of 
his  master's  eloquence.  A  labor  of  love  so  use- 
ful and  so  fascinating  was  accomplished  by  the 
gifted  editor  of  the  Table  TalTc^  and  it  was  ac- 
complished once  for  all.  The  compilation  of  a 
new  Table  Talk,  if  it  were  possible,  would  be  a 
mistake  and  an  impertinence. 

The  present  collection  of  hitherto  unpublished 
aphorisms,  reflections,  confessions,  and  solilo- 
quies, which  for  want  of  a  better  name  I  have 
entitled  Anima  Poetce,  does  not  in  any  way 
challenge  comparison  with  the  Tahle  Talk.  It 
is,  indeed,  essentially  different,  not  only  in  the 
sources  from  which  it  has  been  compiled  but  in 
constitution  and  in  aim. 

"  Since  I  left  you,"  writes  Coleridge  in  a  letter 
to  Wordsworth  of  May  12,  1812,  "  my  pocket- 
books  have  been  my  sole  confidants."  Doubt- 
less, in  earlier  and  happier  days,  he  had  been 
eager  not  merely  to  record,  but  to  communicate 
to  the  few  who  would  listen  or  might  understand 
vi 


PREFACE 

the  ceaseless  and  curious  workings  of  his  ever- 
shaping  imagination,  but  from  youth  to  age  note- 
books and  pocket-books  were  his  silent  confidants, 
his  "  never- failing  friends  "  by  night  and  day. 

More  than  fifty  of  these  remarkable  documents 
are  extant.  The  earliest  of  the  series,  which 
dates  from  1795,  and  which  is  known  as  the 
"  Gutch  Memorandum  Book,"  was  purchased  in 
1868  by  the  trustees  of  the  British  Museum, 
and  is  now  exhibited  in  the  King's  Library.  It 
consists,  for  the  most  part,  of  fragments  of  prose 
and  verse  thrown  off  at  the  moment,  and  stored 
up  for  future  use  in  poem  or  lecture  or  sermon. 
A  few  of  these  fragments  were  printed  in  the 
Literary  Remains  (4  vols.,  1836-39),  and  others 
are  to  be  found  (pp.  103,  5,  6,  9  et  passim^  in 
Herr  Brandl's  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  and  the 
English  Romantic  School.  The  poetical  frag- 
ments are  printed  in  extenso  in  Coleridge's  Poet- 
ical Works  (Macmillan,  1893),  pp.  453-58.  A 
few  specimens  of  the  prose  fragments  have  been 
included  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  work.  One 
of  the  latest  notebooks,  an  unfinished  folio,  con- 
tains the  Autobiographic  Note  of  1832,  portions 
of  which  were  printed  in  Gilhnan's  Life  of  Cole- 
ridge^ pp.  9-33,  and  a  mass  of  unpublished  mat- 
ter, consisting  mainly  of  religious  exercises  and 
biblical  criticism. 

Of  the  intervening  collection  of  pocket-books, 
notebooks,  copy-books,  of  all  shapes,  sizes,  and 
bindings,  a  detailed  description  would  be  tedious 
and  out  of  place.  Their  contents  may  be  roughly 
divided  into  diaries  of  tours  in  Germany,  the 
Lake  District,  Scotland,  Sicily,  and  Italy  ;  notes 
for  projected  and  accomplished  works,  rough 
vii 


PREFACE 

drafts  of  poems,  schemes  of  metre  and  metrical 
experiments  ;  notes  for  lectures  on  Shakspere  and 
other  dramatists  ;  quotations  from  books  of  travel, 
from  Greek,  Latin,  German,  and  Italian  classics, 
with  and  without  critical  comments ;  innumerable 
•fragments  of  metaphysical  and  theological  spec- 
idation  ;  and  commingled  with  this  unassorted 
medley  of  facts  and  thoughts  and  fancies  an 
occasional  and  intermitted  record  of  jjersonal 
feeling,  of  love  and  friendship,  of  disappointment 
and  regret,  of  penitence  and  resolve,  of  faith  and 
hope  in  the  Unseen. 

Hitherto,  but  little  use  has  been  made  of  this 
life-long  accumulation  of  literary  material.  A 
few  specimens,  "  Curiosities  of  Literature  "  they 
might  have  been  called,  were  contributed  by 
Coleridge  himself  to  Southey's  Omniana  of  1812, 
and  a  further  selection  of  some  fifty  fragments, 
gleaned  from  notebooks  21|  and  22,  and  from 
a  third  unnumbered  MS.  book  now  in  my  pos- 
session, were  printed  by  H.  N.  Coleridge  in  the 
first  volume  of  the  Literary  Remains  under  the 
heading  Omniana,  1809-1816.  The  Omniana 
of  1812  were,  in  many  instances,  re-written  by 
Coleridge  before  they  were  included  in  Southey's 
volumes,  and  in  the  later  issue,  here  and  there, 
the  editor  has  given  shape  and  articulation  to  an 
unfinished  or  half-formed  sentence.  The  earlier 
and  later  Omniana,  together  with  the  fragments 
which  were  published  by  Allsop  in  his  Letters, 
Conversation,  and  Recollections  of  S.  T.  Cole- 
ridge, in  1836,  were  included  by  the  late  Thomas 
Ashe  in  his  reprint  of  the  Tahlc  Talk,  Bell  and 
Co.,  1884. 

Some  fourteen  or  fifteen  notes  of  singular 
viii 


PREFACE 

interest  and  beauty,  which  belong  to  the  years  preface 
1804,  1812,  182G,  1829,  etc.,  were  printed  by 
James  GiUman  in  his  unfinished  "  Life  of  Cole- 
ridge," and  it  is  evident  that  he  contemplated  a 
more  extended  use  of  the  notebooks  in  the  con- 
struction of  his  second  volume,  or,  possibly,  the 
publication  of  a  supplementary  volume  of  notes 
or  Omniana.  Transcripts  which  were  made  for 
this  purpose  are  extant,  and  have  been  placed 
at  my  disposal  by  the  kindness  of  Mrs.  Henry 
Watson,  who  inherited  them  from  her  grand- 
mother, Mrs.  Gillman. 

I  may  add  that  a  few  quotations  from  diaries 
of  tours  in  the  Lake  Country  and  on  the  Conti- 
nent are  to  be  found  in  the  footnotes  appended 
to  the  two  volumes  of  Letters  of  Samuel  Taylor 
Coleridge  which  were  issued  in  the  spring  of  the 
present  year. 

To  publish  the  notebooks  in  extenso  woidd  be 
impracticable,  if  even  after  the  lapse  of  sixty  years 
since  the  death  of  the  writer  it  were  permissible. 
They  are  private  memoranda-books  and  rightly 
and  properly  have  been  regarded  as  a  sacred 
trust  by  their  several  custodians.  But  it  is  none 
the  less  certain  that  in  disburthening  himself  of 
the  ideas  and  imaginations  which  pressed  upon 
his  consciousness,  in  committing  them  to  writ- 
ing and  carefully  preserving  them  through  all 
his  wanderings,  Coleridge  had  no  mind  that  they 
should  perish  utterly.  The  invisible  pageantry  of 
thought  and  passion  which  forever  floated  into 
his  spiritual  ken,  the  perpetual  hope,  the  half 
belief  that  the  veil  of  the  senses  would  be  rent  in 
twain,  and  that  he  and  not  another  would  be  the 
first  to  lay  bare  the  mysteries  of  being,  and  to 
ix 


PREFACE 

solve  the  problem  of  tlie  ages  —  of  these  was  the 
breath  of  his  soul.  It  was  his  fate  to  wrestle 
from  night  to  morn  with  the  Angel  of  the  Vision, 
and  of  that  unequal  combat  he  has  left,  by  way 
of  warning  or  encouragement,  a  broken  but  an 
inspired  and  inspiring  record.  "  Hints  and  first 
thoughts  "  he  bade  us  regard  the  contents  of  his 
memorandum-books  —  "  cogitabilia  rather  than 
cogitata  a  me,  not  fixed  opinions,"  and  yet  acts 
of  obedience  to  the  apostolic  command  of  "  Try 
all  things  :  hold  fast  that  which  is  good  "  —  say, 
rather,  acts  of  obedience  to  the  compulsion  of  his 
own  genius  to  "  take  a  pen  and  write  in  a  book 
all  the  words  of  the  vision." 

The  aim  of  the  present  work,  however  imper- 
fectly accomplished,  has  been  to  present  in  a 
compendious  shape  a  collection  of  unpublished 
aphorisms  and  sentences,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
enable  the  reader  to  form  some  estimate  of  those 
strange  self-communings  to  which  Coleridge  de- 
voted so  much  of  his  intellectual  energies,  and 
by  means  of  which  he  hoped  to  pass  through  the 
mists  and  shadows  of  words  and  thoughts  to  a 
steadier  contemplation,  to  the  apprehension  if 
not  the  comprehension,  of  the  mysteries  of  Truth 
and  Being. 

The  various  excerpts  which  I  have  selected 
for  publication  are  arranged,  as  far  as  possible, 
in  chronological  order.  They  begin  with  the 
beginning  of  Coleridge's  literary  career,  and  are 
carried  down  to  the  summer  of  1828,  when  he 
accomj^anied  Wordsworth  and  his  daughter 
Dora  on  a  six  months'  tour  on  the  Continent. 
The  series  of  notebooks  which  belong  to  the 
remaining  years  of  his  life   (1828-1834)  were 


PREFACE 

devoted  for  the  most  part  to  a  commentary  preface 
on  the  Old  and  New  Testament,  to  theological 
controversy,  and  to  metaphysical  disquisition. 
Whatever  interest  they  may  have  possessed,  or 
still  possess,  ajDpeals  to  the  student,  not  to  the 
ofeneral  reader.  With  his  inveterate  love  of  hu- 
morous  or  facetious  titles,  Coleridge  was  pleased 
to  designate  these  serious  and  abstruse  disserta- 
tions as  "  The  Flycatchei's." 

My  especial  thanks  are  due  to  Amy,  Lady 
Coleridge,  who,  in  accordance  with  the  known 
wishes  of  the  late  Lord  Coleridge,  has  afforded 
me  every  facility  for  collating  my  own  tran- 
scripts of  the  notebooks,  and  those  which  were 
made  by  my  father  and  other  members  of  my 
family,  with  the  original  MSS.  now  in  her  pos- 
session. 

I  have  also  to  thank  Miss  Edith  Coleridge 
for  valuable  assistance  in  the  preparation  of  the 
present  work  for  the  press. 

The  death  of  my  friend,  Mr.  James  Dykes 
Campbell,  has  deprived  me  of  aid  which  he  alone 
could  give. 

It  was  due  to  his  suggestion  and  encourage- 
ment that  I  began  to  compile  these  pages,  and 
only  a  few  days  before  his  death  he  promised 
me  (it  was  all  he  could  undertake)  to  "run 
through  the  proofs  with  my  pencil  in  my  hand." 
He  has  passed  away  multls  Jlebilis,  but  he  lived 
to  accomplish  his  own  work  both  as  critic  and 
biographer,  and  to  leave  to  all  who  follow  in  his 
footsteps  a  type  and  example  of  honest  work- 
manship and  of  literary  excellence. 

Ernest  Hartley  Coleridge. 
xi 


ANIMA   POET^ 


CHAPTER  I. 


1797-1801. 


0  Youth  !  for  years  so  many  and  sweet, 
'T  is  known,  that  Thou  and  I  were  one. 

S.  T.  C. 

"  We  should  judge  of  absent  things  by  the  ab-  past  and 
sent.     Objects  which  are  present  are  apt  to  pro- 
duce  perceptions   too    strong  to  be    impartially 
compared  with  those  recalled  only  by  the  mem- 
ory." —  Sir  J.  Stewart. 

True !  and  O  how  often  the  very  opposite  is 
true  likewise,  namely,  that  the  objects  of  memory 
are,  often,  so  dear  and  vivid,  that  present  things 
are  injured  by  being  compared  with  them,  vivid 
from  dearness! 

[The  comment  is  of  later  date  than  the  quota- 
tion.] 

Love,  a  myrtle  wand,  Is  transformed  by  the  love 
Aaron  touch  of  jealousy  into  a  serpent  so  vast 
as  to  swallow  up  every  other  stinging  woe,  and 
makes  us  mourn  the  exchangfe. 

Love  that  soothes  misfortune  and  buoys  up  to 
virtue  —  the  pillow  of  sorrows,  the  wings  of  vir- 
tue. 

Disappointed    love    not    uncommonly  causes 
1 


ANIMA  POET^ 

misogyny,  even  as  extreme  thirst  is  supposed  to 
be  the  cause  of  hydrophobia. 

Love  transforms  the  soul  into  a  conformity 
with  the  object  loved. 

DUTY  AND      From   the   narrow   path   of    virtue   Pleasure 
ENCE^^      leads  us  to  more  flowery  fields,  and  there  Pain 

meets  and  chides  our  wandering.     Of  how  many 

pleasures,  of  what  lasting  happiness,  is  Pain  the 

parent  and  Woe  the  womb  I 

Real  pain  can  alone  cure  us  of  imaginary  ills. 

We  feel  a  thousand  miseries  till  we  are  lucky 

enough  to  feel  misery. 

Misfortunes  prepare  the  heart  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  happiness  in  a  better  state.  The  life 
of  a  religious  benevolent  man  is  an  April  day. 
His  pains  and  sorrows  [what  are  they  but]  the 
fertilizing  rain  ?  The  sunshine  blends  with  every 
shower,  and  look  !  how  full  and  lovely  it  lies  on 
yonder  hill ! 

Our  quaint  metaphysical  opinions,  in  an  hour 
of  anguish,  are  like  playthings  by  the  bedside  of 
a  child  deadly  sick. 

Human  happiness,  like  the  aloe,  is  a  flower  of 
slow  growth. 

What  we  must  do  let  us  love  to  do.  It  is  a  no- 
ble chymistry  that  turns  necessity  into  pleasure. 

INFANCY        1    The  first   smile  —  what  kind  of  reason  it 

AND  IN- 
FANTS       displays.     The  first  smile  after  sickness. 

2 


ANBIA  POET^ 

2.  Asleep  with  the  polyanthus  held  fast  in  its 
hand,  its  bells  di-opping  over  the  rosy  face. 

3.  Stretching  after  the  stars. 

4.  Seen  asleep  by  the  light  of  glow-worms. 

5.  Sports  of  infants;  their  excessive  activity,  the 
means  being  the  end.  Nature,  how  lovely  a  school- 
mistress !  .  .  .  Children  at  houses  of  industry. 

6.  Infant  beholding  its  new-born  sister. 

7.  Kissing  itself  in  the  looking-glass. 

8.  The  Lapland  infant  seeing  the  sun. 

9.  An  infant's  prayer  on  its  mother's  lap. 
Mother  directing  a  baby's  hand.  (Hartley's 
"  love  to  Papa,"  scrawls  pothooks  and  reads 
what  he  meant  by  them.) 

10.  The  infants  of  kings  and  nobles.  ("  Prin- 
cess unkissed  and  foully  husbanded  I  ") 

11.  The  souls  of  infants,  a  vision  {vide  Swe- 
denborg). 

12.  Some  tales  of  an  infant. 

13.  SropyT/.  The  absurdity  of  the  Darwinian 
system  (instanced  by)  birds  and  alligators. 

14.  The  wisdom  and  graciousness  of  God  in 
the  infancy  of  the  human  species,  —  its  beauty, 
long  continuance,  etc.  (Children  in  the  wind,  — 
hair  floating,  tossing,  a  miniature  of  the  agitated 
trees  below  which  they  played.  The  elder  whirl- 
ing for  joy  the  one  in  petticoats,  a  fat  baby  eddy- 
ing half  willingly,  half  by  the  force  of  the  gust, 
driven  backward,  struggling  forward,  —  both 
drunk  with  the  pleasure,  both  shouting  their 
hymn  of  joy.)   [Letters  of  S.  T.  C,  1895,  i.  408.] 

15.  Poor  William  seeking  his  mother,  in  love 
with  her  picture,  and  having  that  union  of  beauty 
and  filial  affection  that  the  Virgin  Mary  may  be 
supposed  to  give. 


ANBIA  POET^ 

Poetry,  like  schoolboys,  by  too  frequent  and 
severe  correction,  lilay  be  cowed  into  dulness  ! 

Peculiar,  not  far-fetched  ;  natural,  but  not  ob- 
vious ;  delicate,  not  affected  ;  dignified,  not  swell- 
ing ;  fiery,  but  not  mad  ;  rich  in  imagery,  but 
not  loaded  with  it,  —  in  short,  a  union  of  har- 
mony and  good  sense,  of  persjiicuity  and  concise- 
ness. Thought  is  the  body  of  such  an  ode,  en- 
thusiasm the  soul,  and  imagery  the  drapery. 

Dr.  Darwin's  poetry  is  nothing  but  a  succes- 
sion of  landscapes  or  paintings.  It  arrests  the 
attention  too  often,  and  so  prevents  the  rapidity 
necessary  to  pathos. 

The  elder  languages  were  fitter  for  poetry  be- 
cause they  expressed  only  jjrominent  ideas  with 
clearness,  the  others  but  darkly.  .  .  .  Poetry 
gives  most  pleasure  when  only  generally  and  not 
perfectly  understood.  It  was  so  by  me  with 
Gray's  "  Bard  "  and  Collins'  Odes.  The  "  Bard  " 
once  intoxicated  me,  and  now  I  read  it  without 
pleasure.  From  this  cause  it  is  that  what  I  call 
metaphysical  poetry  gives  me  so  much  delight. 

[Compare  Lecture  vi.,  1811-12,  Bell  &  Co., 
p.  70  ;  and  TalU  Talk,  Oct.  23,  1833,  Bell  & 
Co.,  p.  264.] 

coMPARi-       Poetry  which  excites  us  to  artificial  feelings 
makes  us  callous  to  real  ones. 


SONS  AND 
CON- 
TRASTS 


The  whale   is   followed   by  waves.     I    would 
glide  down  the  rivulet  of  quiet  life,  a  trout. 
4 


ANIMA  POETiE 

Australls  [Southey]  may  be  compared  to  an 
ostrich.  He  cannot  fly,  but  he  has  such  other 
qualities  that  he  needs  it  not. 

Mackintosh  intertrudes,  not  introduces,  his 
beauties. 


Snails  of  intellect  who  see  only  by  their  feel- 


ers. 


Pygmy  minds,  measuring  others  by  their  own 
standard,  cry,  What  a  monster,  when  they  view 
a  man  ! 

Our  constitution  is  to  some  like  cheese,  —  the 
rotten  parts  they  like  the  best. 

Her  eyes  sparkled  as  if  they  had  been  cut  out 
of  a  diamond  quarry  in  some  Golconda  of  Fairy- 
land, and  cast  such  meaning  glances  as  would 
have  vitrified  the  flint  in  a  murderer's  blunder- 
buss. 

[A  task]  as  difficult  as  to  separate  two  dew- 
drops  blended  together  on  a  bosom  of  a  new- 
blown  rose. 

I  discovered  unprovoked  malice  in  his  hard 
heart,  like  a  huge  toad  in  the  centre  of  a  marble 
rock. 

Men  anxious  for  this  world  are  like  owls  that 
wake  all  night  to  catch  mice. 

At  Genoa  the  word  Liberty  is  engraved  on 
6 


VISIBLE 
AND  IN- 
VISIBLE 


ANIMA  POET^ 

the  chains  of  the  galley  slaves  and  the  doors  of 
prisons. 

Gratitude,  worse  than  witchcraft,  conjures  up 
the  pale,  meagre  ghosts  of  dead  forgotten  kind- 
nesses to  haimt  and  trouble  [his  memory]. 

The  sot,  rolling  on  his  sofa,  stretching  and 
yawning,  exclaimed,  "  Utinam  hoc  esset  laho- 
rare.''^ 

Truth  still  more  than  Justice  [is]  blind,  and 
needs  Wisdom  for  her  guide. 

OF  THINGS  [A  proof  of]  the  severity  of  the  winter,  —  the 
kingfisher  [by]  its  slow,  short  flight  permitting 
you  to  observe  all  its  colors,  almost  as  if  it  had 
been  a  flower. 

Little  daisy,  —  very  late  spring,  March.  Quid 
si  -vavat  ?  Do  all  things  in  faith.  Never  i^luch 
ajloioer  again!     Mem. 

May  20,  The  nigfhtingales  in  a  cluster  or  little  wood  of 

1799  &         C3  _         _ 

blossomed  trees,  and  a  bat  wheeling  incessantly 

round  and  round !     The  noise  of  the  frogs  was 

not  unpleasant,  like  the  humming  of  spinning 

wheels  in  a  large  manufactory,  —  now  and  then 

a  distinct   sound,   sometimes   like  a  duck,  and 

sometimes  like  the  shrill  notes  of  sea-fowl. 

[This   note  was  written   one   day  later  than 

S.  T.  C.'s  last  letter  from  Germany,  May  19, 

1799.] 

O    Heavens !    when   I   think   how   perishable 
6 


ANIMA  POET.E 

things,  how  imperishable  thoughts  seem  to  be ! 
For  what  is  forgetfuhiess  ?  lienew  the  state  of 
affection  or  bodily  feeling  [so  as  to  be  the]  same 
or  similar,  sometimes  dimly  similar,  and,  in- 
stantly, the  trains  of  forgotten  thoughts  rise 
from  their  living  catacombs  ! 

Few  moments  in  life  are  so  interesting  as  those  [Sock- 
of  our  affectionate  reception  from  a  stranger  who  tober,'  1799 
is  the  dear  friend  of   your  dear  friend !     How 
often  you  have  been  the  subject  of  conversation, 
and  how  affectionately ! 

[The  note  commemorates  his  first  introduction 
to  Mary  and  Sarah  Hutchinson.] 

The  immovableness  of  all  things  through  which  Friday 
so  many  men  were  moving,  —  a  harsh  contrast  Nov.'":,' 
compared  with   the    universal   motion,  the  har-  ^^^ 
monious  system  of  motions  in  the  country,  and 
everywhere  in  Nature.     In  the  dim  light  Lon- 
don appeared  to  be  a  huge  place  of  sepulchres 
through  which  hosts  of  spirits  were  gliding. 

Eidicule  the  rage  for  quotations  by  quoting 
from  "  My  Lady's  Handkerchief."  Analyze  the 
causes  that  the  ludicrous  weakens  memory,  and 
laughter,  mechanically,  makes  it  difficult  to  re- 
member a  good  story. 

Sara  sent  twice  for  the  measure  of  George's  ^ 
neck.  He  wondered  that  Sara  should  be  such  a 
fool,  as  she  might  have  measured  William's  or 
Coleridge's,  —  as  "  all  poets'  throttles  were  of  one 
size." 

^  Presumably  George  Dyer. 

7 


ANIMA  POET^ 

Hazlitt,  the  painter,  told  me  that  a  picture 
never  looked  so  well  as  when  the  pallet  was  by 
the  side  of  it.  Association,  with  the  glow  of 
production. 

Mr.  J.  Cairns,  in  the  Gentleman^ s  Diary  for 
1800,  supposes  that  the  Nazarites,  who,  under 
the  law  of  Moses,  had  their  heads  [shaved],  must 
have  used  some  sort  of  wigs  ! 

Slanting  pillars  of  misty  light  moved  along 
under  the  sun  hid  by  clouds. 

Leaves  of  trees  upturned  by  the  stirring  wind 
in  twilight,  —  an  image  of  paleness,  wan  affright. 

A  child  scolding  a  flower  in  the  words  in 
which  he  had  been  himself  scolded  and  whipped, 
is  poetry,  —  passion  past  with  pleasure. 

July  20,  Poor  fellow  at  a  distance,  —  idle  ?  in  this  hay- 

time  when  wages  are  so  high  ?  [We]  come  near 
[and]  then  [see  that  he  is]  pale,  can  scarce  speak 
or  throw  out  his  fishing-rod. 

[This  incident  is  fully  described  by  Words- 
worth in  the  last  of  the  four  poems  on  "  Naming 
of  Places."  —  Poetical  TFo/■^•s  of  W.  Words- 
worth, 1889,  p.  144.] 

September      The  beards  of   thistle  and  dandelions  flying 
'  about  the  lonely  mountains  like  life,  —  and  I  saw 

them  through  the  trees  skimming  the  lake  like 
swallows. 

["  And,  in  our  vacant  mood, 
Not  seldom  did  we  stop  to  watch  some  tuft 
8 


ANIMA   POET^ 

Of  dandeHon  seed  or  thistle's  beard, 

That  skimmed  the  surface  of  the  dead  calm  lake, 

Suddenly  halting  now  —  a  lifeless  stand  ! 

And  starting  off  again  with  freak  as  sudden ; 

In  all  its  sportive  wanderings,  all  the  while, 

Making  report  of  an  invisible  breeze 

That  was  its  wings,  its  chariot,  and  its  horse, 

Its  playmate,  rather  say,  its  moving  soul." 

lUd.,  p.  143.] 

Luther,  —  a  hero,  fettered,  indeed,  with  preju- 
dices, —  but  with  those  very  fetters  he  would 
knock  out  the  brains  of  a  modern  fort  esprit. 

Comment.  Frightening  by  his  prejudices,  as 
a  spirit  does  by  clanking  his  chains. 

Not  only  words,  as  far  as  relates  to  speaking, 
but  the  knowledge  of  words  as  distinct  compo- 
nent parts,  which  we  learn  by  learning  to  read, 

—  what  an  immense  effect  it  must  have  on  our 
reasoning  faculties !    Logical  in  opposition  to  real. 

Children,  in  making  new  words,  always  do  it  1797-1801 
analogously.     Explain  this. 

Hot-headed  men  confuse,  your  cool-headed 
gentry  jumble.  The  man  of  warm  feelings  only 
produces  order  and  true  connection.  In  what  a 
jmnble  M.  and  H.  write,  every  third  paragraph 
beginning  with  "  Let  us  now  return,"  or  "  We 
come  now  to  the  consideration  of  such  a  thing  " 

—  that  is,  what  /  said  I  woidd  come  to  in  the 
contents  prefixed  to  the  chapter. 

Dec.  19 

The  thin  scattered  rain-clouds  were  scudding  isoo 


ANIMA  POET^ 

along  the  sky ;  above  them,  with  a  visible  inter- 
space, the  crescent  moon  hung,  and  partook  not 
of  the  motion ;  her  own  hazy  light  filled  up  the 
concave,  as  if  it  had  been  painted  and  the  colors 
had  run. 

"  He  to  whom  all  things  are  one,  who  draweth 
all  things  to  one,  and  seeth  all  things  in  one, 
may  enjoy  true  peace  of  mind  and  rest  of  spirit." 

—  Jekome  Taylor's  Via  Pads. 

To  each  reproach  that  thunders  from  without 
may  remorse  groan  an  echo. 

A  prison  without  ransom,  anguish  without 
patience,  a  sick-bed  in  the  house  of  contempt. 

To  think  of  a  thing  is  different  from  to  per- 
ceive it,  as  "  to  walk "  is  from  to  "  feel  the 
ground  under  you ; "  perhaps  in  the  same  way  too, 

—  namely,  a  succession  of  perceptions  accom- 
panied by  a  sense  of  nisus  and  purpose. 

Space,  is  it  merely  another  word  for  the  per- 
ception of  a  capability  of  additional  magnitude, 
or  does  this  very  perception  presuppose  the  idea 
of  space?     The  latter  is  Kant's  opinion. 

A  babe  who  had  never  known  greater  cruelty 
than  that  of  being  snatched  away  by  its  mother 
for  half  a  moment  from  the  breast  in  order  to  be 
kissed. 

To  attempt  to  subordinate  the  idea  of  time  to 
that  of  likeness. 

10 


ANIMA   POETyE 

Every  man  asks  how  ?  This  power  to  instruct 
is  the  true  substratum  of  philosophy. 

"  Godwin's  philosophy  is  contained  in  these 
words :  Rationem  defectus  esse  defectum  ratio- 

nis." HOBBES. 

Hartley,  just  able  to  speak  a  few  words,  making 
a  fireplace  of  stones,  with  stones  for  fire,  —  four 
stones  for  the  fireplace,  two  for  the  fire,  —  seems 
to  illustrate  a  theory  of  language,  the  use  of  ar- 
bitrary symbols  in  imagination.  Hartley  walked 
remarkably  soon  and,  therefore,  learnt  to  talk  re- 
markably late. 

Anti-optimism  !  Praise  be  our  Maker,  and  to 
the  honor  of  human  nature  is  it,  that  we  may 
truly  call  this  an  inhuman  opinion.  Man  strives 
after  good. 

Materialists  unwilling  to  admit  the  mysterious 
element  of  our  nature  make  it  all  mysterious  — 
nothing  mysterious  in  nerves,  eyes,  etc.,  but  that 
nerves  think,  etc. !  Stir  up  the  sediment  into  the 
transparent  water,  and  so  make  all  opaque. 

As  we  recede  from  anthropomorphism  we  must  1797-I80i 
go  either  to  the  Trinity  or  Pantheism.     The  Fa- 
thers who   were   Unitarians  were   antlu^opomor- 
phites. 

Empirics   are   boastful   and   egotists   because  egotism 
they  introduce  real  or  apparent  novelty,  which  isoi^^'^^' 
excites  great  opposition  [while]  personal  opposi- 
tion creates  re-action  (which  is  of  course  a  con- 
11 


ANIMA  POETiE 

sciousness  of  power)  associated  with  the  person 
re-acting.  Paracelsus  was  a  boaster,  it  is  true  ; 
so  were  the  French  Jacobins,  and  Wolff,  though 
not  a  boaster,  was  persecuted  into  a  habit  of  ego- 
tism in  his  philosophical  writings  ;  so  Dr.  John 
Brown,  and  Milton  in  his  prose  works ;  and 
those,  in  similar  circumstances,  who,  from  pru- 
dence, abstain  from  egotism  in  their  writings  are 
still  egotists  among  their  friends.  It  would  be 
unnatural  effort  not  to  be  so,  and  egotism  in  such 
cases  is  by  no  means  offensive  to  a  kind  and  dis- 
cerning man. 

Some  flatter  themselves  that  they  abhor  ego- 
tism, and  do  not  suffer  it  to  appear  jjrijna  facie, 
either  in  their  writings  or  conversation,  how- 
ever much  and  however  personally  they  or  their 
opinions  have  been  opposed.  What  now  ?  Ob- 
serve, watch  those  men  ;  their  habits  of  feeling 
and  thinking  are  made  up  of  contemj^t,  which  is 
the  concentrated  vinegar  of  egotism,  —  it  is  Icet'i- 
tia  mixta  cwn  odio,  a  notion  of  the  weakness  of 
another  conjoined  with  a  notion  of  our  own  com- 
parative strength,  though  that  weakness  is  still 
strong  enough  to  be  troublesome  to  us,  though 
not  formidable. 

"  And  the  deep  power  of  Joy 
We  see  into  the  Life  of  Things." 
By  deep  feeling  we  make  our  ideas  dim,  and  tliis 
is  what  we  mean  by  our  life,  ourselves.  I  think 
of  the  wall.  It  is  before  me  a  distinct  image. 
Here  I  necessarily  think  of  the  idea  and  the 
thinking  /  as  two  distinct  and  opposite  things. 
Now  let  me  think  of  myself,  of  the  thinking 
being.  The  idea  becomes  dim,  whatever  it  be  — 
12 


ANIMA  POET^ 

SO  dim  tliat  I  know  not  wliat  it  is  ;  but  the  feel- 
ing is  deep  and  steady,  and  this  I  call  / —  iden- 
tifying the  percipient  and  the  perceived. 

"  O  Thou !  whose  fancies  from  afar  are  brought." 

Hartley,  looking  out  of  my  study  window,  March  17, 
fixed  his  eyes  steadily  and  for  some  time  on  the  Tuesday 
opposite  prospect  and  said,  "  Will  yon  mountains 
always  be  ?  "  I  showed  him  the  w^hol^  magnifi- 
cent prospect  in  a  looking-glass,  and  held  it  up, 
so  that  the  whole  was  like  a  canopy  or  ceiling 
over  his  head,  and  \&  struggled  to  express  him- 
self concerning  the  difference  between  the  thing 
and  the  image  almost  with  convidsive  effort.  I 
never  before  saw  such  an  abstract  of  thinlcing  as 
a  pirre  act  and  energy,  —  of  thinking  as  distin- 
guished from  thought. 


BRUNO 


Monday,  April,  1801,  and  Tuesday,  read  two  giordano 
works  of  Giordano  Bruno,  '^dth  one  title-page 
Jordani  Brunt  Nolani  de  3Io7iade,  Numero  et 
Figura  liber  consequens.  Qulnque  de  Minimo^ 
Magno  et  Men&ura.  Item.  De  Innvmerahili- 
bus  Immenso,  et  Infigiirahili  sen  de  Universo  et 
Mundis  libri  octo.  Francofurti,  Apud  Joan. 
Wechelum  et  Petriim  Fischerum  consortes, 
1591. 

Then  follows  the  dedication,  then  the  index  of 
contents  of  the  whole  volume,  at  the  end  of  which 
index  is  a  Latin  ode,  conceived  with  great  dignity 
and  grandeur  of  thought.  Then  the  work  De 
Monade^  Numero  et  Figura  secretloris  nemjie 
Physiccc,  Mathematical  et  3Tetaphysicai  elc- 
menta  commences,  which,  as  well  as  the  eight 
13 


ANIMA  POETiE 

books  De  Innumerabili,,  etc.,  is  a  poem  in  Latin 
hexameters,  divided  (each  book)  into  chapters, 
and  to  each  chapter  is  affixed  a  prose  commen- 
tary. If  the  five  books  de  lllnimo^  etc.,  to 
which  this  book  is  consequent,  are  of  the  same 

1797-1801  character,  I  lost  nothing"  in  not  having  it.  As  to 
the  work  De  Monade,  it  was  far  too  nmnerical, 
lineal,  and  Pythagorean  for  my  compensation. 
It  read  very  much  like  Thomas  Taylor  and  Pro- 
clus,  etc.  I  by  no  means  think  it  certain  that 
there  is  no  meaning  in  these  works.  Nor  do  I 
presmne  even  to  suppose  that  the  meaning  is  of 
no  value  (till  I  understand  a  man's  ignorance  I 
presume  myself  ignorant  of  his  understanding), 
but  it  is  for  others,  at  present,  not  for  me.     Sir 

-J  P.  Sidney  and  Fulk  Greville  shut  the  doors  at 

their  philosophical  conferences  with  Bruno.  If 
his  conversation  resembled  this  book,  I  shoidd 
have  thought  he  would  have  talked  with  a  trum- 
pet. 

The  poems  and  commentaries  in  the  De  Im- 
menso  et  Innimiembili  are  of  a  different  charac- 
ter. The  commentary  is  a  very  sublime  enuncia- 
tion of  the  dignity  of  the  human  soul,  according 
to  the  principles  of  Plato. 

[Here  follows  the  passage,  "  Anima  Sa^nens 
.  .  .  ubique  totus,^^  quoted  in  T/ie  Friend 
(^Coleridge  s  WorTcs^  ii.  109),  together  with  a 
brief  resume  of  Bruno's  other  works.  See,  too, 
BiograpJda  Diteraria,  chapter  ix.  (^Coleridge's 
Works,  iii.  249).] 


OBSEKVA-       The  spring  with  the  little  tiny  cone  of  loose 
REFLEc-     sand  ever  rising  and  sinking  at  the  bottom,  but 
its  surface  without  a  wrinkle. 
14 


ANIMA  POET^ 
Nortliern  lights   remarkably   fine  —  chiefly  a  Monday, 

,11  •        1        .  •  •  1  IP  September 

purple-olue  —  in  shooting  pyramids,  moved  irom  14^  lyoi 

over  Bassenthwaite  behind  Skiddaw.     Derwent's 

birthday,  one  year  old. 

Observed  the  great  half  moon  setting  behind  September 

•        •  .15   1801 

the  mountain  ridge,  and  watched  the  shapes  its  ' 
various  segments  presented  as  it  slowly  sunk  — 
first  the  foot  of  a  boot,  all  but  the  heel  —  then  a 
little  pyramid  A  —  then  a  star  of  the  first  mag- 
nitude, indeed,  it  was  not  distinguishable  from 
the  evening  star  at  its  largest — then  rapidly  a 
smaller,  a  small,  a  very  small  star  —  and,  as  it 
diminished  in  size,  so  it  grew  paler  in  tint.  And 
now  where  is  it  ?  Unseen  —  but  a  little  fleecy 
cloud  hangs  above  the  mountain  ridge,  and  is 
rich  in  amber  light. 

I  do  not  wish  you  to  act  from  those  truths. 
No !  still  and  always  act  from  your  feelings  ; 
but  only  meditfite  often  on  these  truths,  that 
sometime  or  other  they  may  become  your  feelings. 

The  state  should  be  to  the  religions  under  its 
protection  as  a  well-drawn  picture,  equally  eye- 
ing all  in  the  room. 

Quaere,  whether  or  no  too  great  definiteness  of 
terms  in  any  language  may  not  consume  too 
much  of  the  vital  and  idea-creating  force  in  dis- 
tinct, clear,  full-made  images,  and  so  prevent 
originality.  For  original  might  be  distinguished 
from  positive  thought. 

The  thing  that  causes  i7istability  in  a  particu- 
15 


ANIMA  POET^ 

lar  state,  of  itself  causes  stability.  For  instance, 
wet  soap  slips  off  tlie  ledge  —  detain  it  till  it  dries 
a  little,  and  it  sticks. 

Is  there  anything  in  the  idea  that  citizens  are 
fonder  of  good  eating  and  rustics  of  strong  drink 
—  the  one  from  the  rarity  of  all  such  things,  the 
other  from  the  uniformity  of  his  life  ? 

October  On  the  Greta,  over  the  bridge   by   Mr.  Ed- 

19, 1801      mundson's  father-in-law,  the  ashes  —  their  leaves 
of  that  light  yellow  which  autumn  gives  them  — 
1797-1801    cast  a  reflection  on  the  river  like  a  painter's  sun- 
shine. 

October  My  birthday.     The  snow  fell  on  Skiddaw  and 

Grysdale  Pike  for  the  first  time. 

[A  life-long  mistake.  He  was  born  October 
21,  1772.] 

Tuesday  All  the  mountains  black  and  tremendously 
|^pas°i,'  obscure,  except  Swinside.  At  this  time  I  saw, 
22^*1801  °^®  after  the  other,  nearly  in  the  same  place,  two 
perfect  moon-rainbows,  the  one  foot  in  the  field 
below  my  garden,  the  other  in  the  field  nearest 
but  two  to  the  church.  It  was  gray-moonlight- 
mist-color.  Friday  morning,  Mary  Hutchinson 
arrives. 

The  art  of  a  great  man,  and  of  evidently  su- 
perior faculties,  to  be  often  ohlirjed  to  people, 
often  his  inferiors  —  in  this  way  the  enthusiasm 
of  affection  may  be  excited.  Pity  where  we  can 
help  and  our  kelp  is  accepted  with  gratitude, 
conjoined  with  admiration,  breeds  an  enthusiastic 
16 


ANIMA   POETyE 

affection.  The  same  pity  conjoined  with  admira- 
tion, where  neither  our  help  is  accepted  nor  effi- 
cient, breeds  dyspathy  and  fear. 

Nota  bene  to  make  a  detailed  comparison,  in 
the  manner  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  between  the 
searching  for  the  first  cause  of  a  thing  and  the 
seeking  the  fountains  of  the  Nile  —  so  many 
streams,  each  with  its  particular  fountain  —  and, 
at  last,  it  all  comes  to  a  name. 

The  sold  a  mummy  embalmed  by  Hope  in  the 
catacombs. 

To  write  a  series  of  love  poems  truly  Sapphic, 
save  that  they  shall  have  a  large  interfusion  of 
moral  sentiment  and  calm  imagery  —  love  in  all 
the  moods  of  mind,  philosophic,  fantastic  —  in 
moods  of  high  enthusiasm,  of  simple  feeling,  of 
mysticism,  of  religion  —  comprise  in  it  all  the 
practice  and  all  the  philosophy  of  love ! 

'O  fivpioyovi — hyperbole  from  Naucratius'  pan- 
egyric of  Theodorus  Chersites.     Shaksi^ere,  item, 

6  TToWoarbs  xat  iroXveiSr]';  ry  TroLKiXocrTpocfxo  crocfiia. 
6    /u,€yaXo(;6pcovoTaTOS     Trj<;     aXyjOetas    Krjpv$.    —  LORD 

Bacon. 

[Compare  Blogirrphia  Literaria^  cap.  xv., 
"  our  myriad-minded  Shakspere,"  and  footnote. 
*AvT/p  fjivpLovov^,  a  phrase  which  I  have  borrowed 
from  a  Greek  monk,  who  applies  it  to  a  Patriarch 
of  Constantinople.  I  might  have  said  that  I  have 
reclaimed  rather  than  borrowed  it ;  for  it  seems 
to  belong  to  Shakspere,  de  jure  singularly  et  ex 
privilegio  naturce.  Coleridge's  Worhs^  iii.  375.] 
17 


CHAPTER  n. 


1802-1803  1802-180S. 


In  a  half  sleep,  he  dreams  of  better  worlds, 
And  dreaming  hears  thee  still,  O  singing  lark, 
That  singest  like  an  angel  in  the  clouds  ! 

S.  T.  C. 


THOUGHTS      No  one  can  leap  over   his   own   shadow,  but 
poets  leap  over  death. 


AND 
FAXCIES 


The  old  world  begins  a  new  year.  That  is 
ours^  but  this  is  from  God. 

We  may  think  of  time  as  threefold.  Slowly 
comes  the  Future,  swift  the  Present  passes  by, 
but  the  Past  is  unmovable.  No  impatience  will 
quicken  the  loiterer ;  no  terror,  no  delight,  rein  in 
the  flyer ;  and  no  regret  set  in  motion  the  station- 
ary. "VYouldst  be  happy,  take  the  delayer  for 
thy  counsellor ;  do  not  choose  the  flyer  for  thy 
friend,  nor  the  ever-remainer  for  thine  enemy. 

Vastum,  incultum,  solitudo  mera,  et  incrinitis- 
sima  nuditas. 

{^Crinitus^  covered  with  hair,  is  to  be  found 
in  Cicero,  nuditas  in  Quintilian,  but  incrinitis- 
sima  is,  probably,  Coleridgian  Latinity.] 

[An  old  man  gloating  over  his  past  vices  may 
be  compared  to  the]  devil  at  the  very  end  of 
hell,  warming  himself  at  the  reflection  of  the  fire 
in  the  ice. 

18 


ANIMA  POET^ 

Dimness  of  vision,  mist,  etc.,  magnify  the  pow- 
ers of  sight,  numbness  adds  to  those  of  touch.  A 
numb  limb  seems  twice  its  real  size. 

Take  away  from  sounds  the  sense  of  outness, 
and  what  a  horrible  disease  would  every  minute 
become  !  A  drive  over  a  pavement  would  be  ex- 
quisite torture.  What,  then,  is  sympathy  if  the 
feelings  be  not  disclosed  ?  An  inward  reverber- 
ation of  the  stifled  cry  of  distress. 

Metaphysics  make  all  one's  thoughts  equally 
corrosive  on  the  body,  by  inducing  a  habit  of 
making  momently  and  common  thought  the  sub- 
ject of  uncommon  interest  and  intellectual  en- 
ergy. 

A  kind-hearted  man  who  is  obliged  to  give  a 
refusal,  or  the  like,  which  will  inflict  great  pain 
finds  a  relief  in  doing  it  roughly  and  fiercely. 
Explain  this  and  use  it  in  Christabel. 

The  unspeakable  comfort  to  a  good  man's 
mind,  nay,  even  to  a  criminal,  to  be  understood, 
—  to  have  some  one  that  understands  one,  —  and 
who  does  not  feel  that,  on  earth,  no  one  does  ? 
The  hope  of  this,  always  more  or  less  disap- 
pointed, gives  the  passion  to  friendship. 

Hartley,  at  Mr.  Clarkson's,  sent  for  a  candle.  October, 
The  seems  made  him  miserable.  "  What  do 
you  mean,  my  love  ?  "  "  The  seems,  the  seems. 
What  seems  to  be  and  is  not,  men  and  faces, 
and  I  do  not  [know]  what,  ugly,  and  sopietimes 
pretty,  and  these  turn  ugly,  and  they  seem  when 
19 


ANIMA  POET^ 

my  eyes  are  open  and  worse  when  they  are  shut, 
—  and  the  candle  cures  the  seems." 

Great  injury  has  resulted  from  the  supposed 
incompatibility  of  one  talent  with  another,  judg- 
ment with  imagination  and  taste,  good  sense  with 
strong  feeling,  etc.  If  it  be  false,  as  assuredly 
it  is,  the  opinion  has  deprived  us  of  a  test  which 
every  man  might  apply.  [Hence]  Locke's  opin- 
ions of  Blackmore,  Hume's  of  Milton  and  Shak- 
spere. 

October  I  began  to  look  through  Swift's  works.     First 

'  volume,   containing    Tale   of  a    Tub,   wanting. 

Second  volume,  —  the  sermon  on  the  Trinity, 
rank  Socinianism,  purus  putus  Socinianism, 
while  the  author  rails  against  the  Socinians  for 
monsters. 

The  first  sight  of  green  fields  with  the  num- 
berless nodding  gold  cups,  and  the  winding  river 
with  alders  on  its  banks,  affected  me,  coming  out 
of  a  city  confinement,  with  the  sweetness  and 
power  of  a  sudden  strain  of  music. 

Mem.  To  end  my  preface  with  "  in  short, 
speaking  to  the  poets  of  the  age,  '  Prhmis  ves- 
trum  non  sum,  neque  imtis.^  I  am  none  of  the 
best,  I  am  none  of  the  meanest  of  you." — Burton. 

"  Et  pour  moi,  le  bonheur  n'a  commence  que 
lorsque  je  I'ai  en  perdu.  Je  mettrais  volontiers 
sur  la  porte  du  Paradis  le  vers  que  le  Dante  a 
mis  sur  celle  de  I'Enfer, 

*  Lasciate  ogiii  speranza  voi  ch'  entrate.'  " 

20 


ANIMA  POET^ 

"Were  I  Achilles,  I  would  have  had  my  leg 
cut  off,  and  have  got  rid  of  my  vulnerable  heel. 

In  natural  objects  we  feel  ourselves,  or  think 
of  ourselves,  only  by  lihenesses ;  among  men, 
too  often  by  differences.  Hence  the  soothing, 
love-kindling  effect  of  rural  nature  —  the  bad 
passions  of  human  societies.  And  why  is  differ- 
ence linked  with  hatred  ? 

Regular   post  —  its   influence  on  the  general  tran- 
literature  of  the  country ;  turns  two  thirds  of  the 
nation  into  writers.  faper^' 


SCRIPTS 
FROM  MY 


POCKET- 
BOOKS 


Socinianism,  moonlight;  methodism,  a  stove, 
O  for  some  sun  to  unite  heat  and  light ! 

I   intend    to   examine    minutely   the    nature,  Nov.  25, 
cause,  birth,  and  growth  of  the  verbal  imagina- 
tion, in  the  possession  of  which  Barrow  excels 
almost  every  other  writer  of  prose. 

Remember  the  pear-trees  in  the  lovely  vale  of  Sunday, 
Teme.     Every  season  Nature  converts  me  fi-om  19^''^'"  ^^ 
some  unloving  heresy,  and  will  make  a  Catholic 
of  me  at  last. 

A  fine  and  apposite  quotation,  or  a  good  story, 
so  far  from  promoting,  are  wont  to  dcanj)  the 
easy  commerce  of  sensible  chit-chat. 

We  imagine  ourselves  discoverers,  and  that  we 
have  struck  a  light,  when,  in  reality,  at  most  we 
have  but  snuffed  a  candle. 
21 


ANIMA  POET^ 

A  thief  in  the  candle,  consuming  in  a  blaze 
the  tallow  belonging  to  the  wick  which  has  sunk 
out  of  sight,  is  an  apt  simile  for  a  plagiarist  from 
a  dead  author. 

An  author  with  a  new  play  which  has  been 
hissed  off  the  stage  is  not  unlike  a  boy  who  has 
launched  on  a  pond  a  ship  of  his  own  making, 
and  tries  to  prove  to  his  schoolfellows  that  it 
ought  to  have  sailed. 

Eepose  after  agitation  is  like  the  pool  under  a 
waterfall,  which  the  waterfall  has  made. 

Something  inherently  mean  in  action  !  Even 
the  creation  of  the  universe  disturbs  my  idea  of 
the  Almighty's  greatness  —  would  do  so  but  that 
I  perceive  that  thought  with  Him  creates. 

The  great  federal  republic  of  the  universe. 

T.  Wedgwood's  objection  to  my  "  Things  and 
Thoughts,"  because  "  thought  always  implies  an 
act  or  nisiis  of  mind,"  is  not  well  founded.  A 
thought  and  thoughts  are  quite  different  words 
from  Thought,  as  a  fancy  from  Fancy,  a  work 
from  Work,  a  life  from  Life,  a  force  and  forces 
from  Force,  a  feeling,  a  writing  [from  Feelings, 
Writings] . 

May  10,  To  fall  asleep.     Is  not  a  real  event  in  the 

1  SOS  «/  X 

body  well  represented  by  this  phrase  ?  Is  it  in 
excess  when  on  first  drojyping  asleep  we  fall 
down  precipices,  or  sink  down,  all  things  sinking 
beneath  us,  or  drop  down  ?     Is  there  not  a  dis- 

22 


ANIMA  POET^ 

ease  from  deficiency  of  this  critical  sensation 
when  people  imagine  that  they  have  been  awake 
all  night,  and  actually  lie  dreaming,  expecting 
and  wishing  for  the  critical  sensation  ? 

[Compare  the  phrase,  "precipices  of  distem- 
pered sleep,"  in  the  sonnet,  "  No  more  my  vi- 
sionary soul  shall  dwell,"  attributed  by  Southey 
to  Fa  veil.  —  Life  and  Correspondence  of  R. 
Southey,  i.  224.] 

[He]  drew  out  the  secrets  from  men's  hearts,  a  treach- 
as  the  Egyptian  enchanters  by  particular  strains  kxave 
of  music  draw  out  serpents  from  their  lurking- 
places. 

The  rocks  and  stones  put  on  a  vital  resem-  country 
blance,  and  life  itself  seemed,  thereby,  to  forego  town 
its  restlessness,  to   anticijsate  in  its  own  nature 
an  infinite  repose,  and  to  become,  as  it  were, 
compatible  with  immovability. 

Bright  reflections,  in  the  canal,  of  the  blue 
and  green  vitriol  bottles  in  the  druggists'  shojjs 
in  London. 

A  curious,  and  more  than  curious,  fact,  that 
when  the  country  does  not  benefit,  it  dejiraves. 
Hence  the  violent,  vindictive  passions  and  the 
outrageous  and  dark  and  wild  cruelties  of  very 
many  country  io\k.  [On  the  other  hand]  the 
continual  sight  of  human  faces  and  human 
houses,    as    in    China,    emasculates     [and    de- 

ni^lit, 

"  He  who  cannot  wait  for  his  reward  has,  in  i803 
23 


ANIMA  POETyE 


reality,  not  earned  it."  These  words  I  uttered 
in  a  dream,  in  which  a  lecture  I  was  giving  —  a 
very  profound  one,  as  I  thought  —  was  not  lis- 
tened to,  but  I  was  quizzed. 


Tuesday 
night, 
July  19, 
1803 


Intensely  hot  day  ;  left  off  a  waistcoat  and  for 
yarn  wore  silk  stockings.  Before  nine  o'clock, 
had  unpleasant  chillness ;  heard  a  noise  wdiich  I 
thought  Derwent's  in  sleep,  listened,  and  found 
it  was  a  calf  bellowing.  Instantly  came  on  my 
mind  that  night  I  slept  out  at  Ottery,  and  the 
calf  in  the  field  across  the  river  whose  lowing  so 
deeply  impressed  me.  Chill  +  child  and  calf- 
lowing,  probably  the  Eivers  Greta  and  Otter. 
[Letters  of  S.  T.  C,  i.  14  note.] 


October, 
1803 


A  smile,  as  foreign  or  alien  to,  as  detached 
from  the  gloom  of  the  countenance,  as  I  have 
seen  a  small  sj)ot  of  light  travel  slowly  and  sadly 
along  the  mountain's  breast,  when  all  beside  has 
been  dark  with  the  storm. 


A  PRINCI- 
PLE OF 
CRITICISM 


WORDS- 
WORTH 
AND  THE 
PRELUDE 


Never  to  lose  an  opportunity  of  reasoning 
against  the  head-dimming,  heart-damping  prin- 
ciple of  judging  a  work  by  its  defects,  not  its 
beauties.  Every  work  must  have  the  former,  — 
we  know  it  a  jyviori^  —  but  every  work  has  not 
the  latter,  and  he,  therefore,  who  discovers  them, 
tells  you  something  that  you  could  not  with  cer- 
tainty, or  even  with  probability,  have  anticipated. 

I  am  sincerely  glad  that  he  has  bidden  fare- 
well to  all  small  poems,  and  is  devoting  himself 
to  his  great  work,  grandly  imprisoning,  while  it 
deifies,   his   attention   and   feelings   within    the 
24 


ANIMA  POETiE 

sacred  circle  and  temple-walls  of  great  objects 
and  elevated  conceptions.  In  those  little  poems, 
Lis  own  corrections  coming  of  necessity  so  often 
—  at  tlie  end  of  every  fourteen  or  twenty  lines, 
or  whatever  the  poem  might  chance  to  be  —  wore 
him  out ;  difference  of  opinion  with  his  best 
friends  irritated  him,  and  he  wrote,  at  times,  too 
much  with  a  sectarian  spirit,  in  a  sort  of  bravado. 
But  now  he  is  at  the  helm  of  a  noble  bark ;  now 
he  sails  right  onward  ;  it  is  all  open  ocean  and  a 
steady  breeze,  and  he  drives  before  it,  unfretted 
by  short  tacks,  reefing  and  unreefing  the  sails, 
hauling  and  disentangling  the  ropes.  His  only 
disease  is  the  having  been  out  of  his  element ; 
his  return  to  it  is  food  to  famine ;  it  is  both  the 
specific  remedy  and  the  condition  of  health. 

Without  drawing,  I  feel  myself  but  half  in-  the  in- 
vested with  language.  Music,  too,  is  wanting  to  cable 
me.  But  yet,  though  one  should  unite  poetr}', 
draftsman's  skill,  and  music,  the  greater  and, 
perhaps,  nobler  —  certainly  all  the  subtler  — 
parts  of  one's  nature  must  be  solitary.  IVIan  ex- 
ists herein  to  himself  and  to  God  alone  —  yea  ! 
in  how  much  only  to  God !  how  much  lies  helow 
his  own  consciousness ! 

The  tree  or  seaweed  like  appearance  of  the 
side  of  the  mountain,  all  white  with  snow,  made 
by  little  bits  of  snow  loosened.  Introduce  this 
and  the  stones  leaping  rabbit-like  down  on  my 
sopha  of  sods  [vide  p.  60]. 

The  sunny  mist,  the  luminous  gloom  of  Plato. 
25 


ANIMA  POET^ 

TIME  AN  Nothing  affects  me  much  at  tlie  moment  it 
OF  GKiEF  happens.  It  either  stupefies  me,  and  I,  perhaps, 
look  at  a  merry-make  and  dance-the-hay  of  flies, 
or  listen  entirely  to  the  loud  click  of  the  great 
clock,  or  I  am  simply  indifferent,  not  without 
some  sense  of  philosophical  self-complacency. 
For  a  thing  at  the  moment  is  but  a  thing  of  the 
moment;  it  must  be  taken  up  into  the  mind, 
diffuse  itself  though  the  whole  multitude  of 
shapes  and  thoughts,  not  one  of  which  it  leaves 
untinged,  between  not  one  of  which  and  it  some 
new  thought  is  not  engendered.  Now  this  is  a 
work  of  time,  but  the  body  feels  it  quicker  with 
me. 

THE  POET  On  St.  Herbert's  Island,  I  saw  a  large  spider 
SPIDER  with  most  beautiful  legs,  floating  in  the  air  on 
his  back  by  a  single  thread  which  he  was  spin- 
ning out,  and  still,  as  he  spun,  heaving  on  the 
air,  as  if  the  air  beneath  was  a  pavement  elastic 
to  his  strokes.  From  the  top  of  a  very  high  tree 
he  had  spun  his  line ;  at  length  reached  the 
bottom,  tied  his  thread  round  a  piece  of  grass, 
and  reascended  to  spin  another,  —  a  net  to  hang, 
as  a  fisherman's  sea-net  hangs,  in  the  sun  and 
wind  to  dry. 

THE  COM-  One  excellent  use  of  communication  of  sorrow 
BLE  '  to  a  friend  is  this,  that  in  relating  what  ails  us, 
we  ourselves  first  know  exactly  what  the  real 
grief  is,  and  see  it  for  itself  in  its  own  form  and 
limits.  Unspoken  grief  is  a  misty  medley  of 
which  the  real  affliction  only  plays  the  first 
fiddle,  blows  the  horn  to  a  scattered  mob  of  ob- 
scure feelings.  Perhaps,  at  certain  moments,  a 
26 


ANIMA  POET^ 

single,  almost  insignificant  sorrow  may,  by  asso- 
ciation, bring  together  all  the  little  relicts  of 
pain  and  discomfort,  bodily  and  mental,  that  we 
have  endured  even  from  infancy. 

One  may  best  judge  of  men  by  their  pleasures,  noscitub 
Who  has  not  known  men  who  have  passed  the  ^  ^^^"^ 
day  in  honorable  toil  with  honor  and  ability,  and 
at  night  sought  the  vilest  jsleasure  in  the  vilest 
society  ?  This  is  the  man's  self.  The  other  is 
a  trick  learnt  by  heart  (for  we  may  even  learn 
the  power  of  extemporaneous  elocution  and  in- 
stant action  as  an  automatic  trick)  ;  but  a  man's 
pleasures  —  children,  books,  friends,  nature,  the 
Muse  —  O,  these  deceive  not. 


Even  among  good  and  sensible  men,  how  com-  tempera- 
mon  it  is  that  one  attaches  himself  scrupulously  to  jIokals^^ 
the  rigid  performance  of  some  minor  virtue,  or  l]!^*o^^^' 
makes  a  point  of  carrying  some  virtue  into  all  its 
minutiae,  and  is  just  as  lax  in  a  similar  point, 
jprofessedly  lax.  What  this  is  depends,  seem- 
ingly, on  temperament.  A  makes  no  conscience 
of  a  little  flattery  in  cases  where  he  is  certain 
that  he  is  not  acting  from  base  or  interested  mo- 
tives —  in  short,  whenever  his  only  motives  are 
the  amusement,  the  momentary  pleasure  given, 
etc.,  a  medley  of  good  nature,  diseased  proneness 
to  sympathy,  and  a  habit  of  heing  wiser  behind 
the  curtain  than  his  own  actions  before  it.  B 
would  die  rather  than  deviate  from  truth  and 
sincerity  in  this  instance,  but  permits  liimseK  to 
utter,  nay,  publish,  the  harshest  censure  of  men 
as  moralists  and  as  literati,  and  that,  too,  on  his 
simple  ij)se  dixit,  without  assigning  any  reason, 
27 


ANIMA  POET^E 

and  often  without  having  any,  save  that  he  him- 
self believes  it  —  believes  it  because  he  dislikes 
the  man,  and  dislikes  him  probably  for  his  looks, 
or,  at  best,  for  some  one  fault  without  any  col- 
lation of  the  sum  total  of  the  man's  qualities. 
Yet  A  and  B  are  both  good  men,  as  the  world 
goes.  They  do  not  act  from  conscious  self-love, 
and  are  amenable  to  principles  in  their  own 
minds. 


Bright 

October 

October 

21 ,_  1803, 

Friday 

morning 


J 


r 


A  drizzling  rain.  Heavy  masses  of  shapeless 
vapor  upon  the  mountains  (O  the  perpetual 
forms  of  Borrowdale  !),  yet  it  is  no  unbroken  tale 
of  dull  sadness.  Slanting  piUars  travel  across 
the  lake  at  long  intervals,  the  vaporous  mass 
whitens  in  large  stains  of  light  —  on  the  lake- 
ward  ridge  of  that  huge  armchair  of  Lodore  fell 
a  gleam  of  softest  light,  that  brought  out  the 
rich  hues  of  the  late  autumn.  The  woody  Castle 
Crag  between  me  and  Lodore  is  a  rich  flower- 
garden  of  colors  —  the  brightest  yellows  with 
the  deepest  crimsons  and  the  infinite  shades  of 
brown  and  green,  the  infinite  diversity  of  which 
blends  the  whole,  so  that  the  brighter  colors  seem 
to  be  colors  upon  a  ground,  not  colored  things. 
Little  wool-packs  of  white  bright  vapor  rest  on 
different  summits  and  declivities.  The  vale  is 
narrowed  by  the  mist  and  cloud,  yet  through  the 
wall  of  mist  you  can  see  into  a  bower  of  sunny 
light,  in  Borrowdale ;  the  birds  ai'e  singing  in 
the  tender  rain,  as  if  it  wei*e  the  rain  of  April, 
and  the  decaying  foliage  were  flowers  and  blos- 
soms. The  pillar  of  smoke  from  the  chimney 
rises  up  in  the  mist,  and  is  just  distinguishable 
from  it,  and  the  mountain  forms  in  the  gorge 
28 


ANIMA  POET.E 

of   Borrowclale    consubstantiates  with  the   mist 
and  cloud,  even  as  the  pillar'd  smoke  —  a  shade  1 
deeper  and  a  determinate  form.  -^ 


A  most  unpleasant  dispute  with  Wordsworth  teleo- 
and  Hazlitt.    I  spoke,  I  fear,  too  contemptuously ; 
but  they  spoke  so  irreverently,  so  malignantly  of  ^'".^ 


LOGY  AND 
5  XATUKK 
JRSHIP 
t'RUTEsT 

the  Divine  Wisdom  that  it  overset  me.  Hazlitt,  October 
how  easily  raised  to  rage  and  hatred  seli-pro- 
jected !  but  who  shall  find  the  force  that  can 
drag  him  out  of  the  depths  into  one  expression 
of  kindness,  into  the  showing  of  one  gleam  of  the 
light  of  love  on  his  countenance.  Peace  be  M'ith 
him  I  But  thou,  dearest  Wordsworth  —  and 
what  if  Ray,  Durham,  Paley  have  carried  the 
observation  of  the  aptitude  of  things  too  far,  too 
habitually  into  pedantry  ?  O  how  many  worse 
pedantries !  how  few  so  harmless,  with  so  much 
efficient  good  !  Dear  William,  pardon  pedantry 
in  others,  and  avoid  it  in  yourself,  instead  of 
scoffing  and  reviling  at  pedantry  in  good  men 
and  a  good  cause,  and  hecoming  a  pedant  your- 
self in  a  bad  cause  —  even  by  that  very  act  be- 
coming one.  But,  surel}^  always  to  look  at  tlie\ 
superficies  of  objects  for  the  purpose  of  taking 
delight  in  their  beauty,  and  sympathy  with  their 
real  or  imagined  life,  is  as  deleterious  to  the 
health  and  manhood  of  intellect  as  always  to  be 
peering  and  unravelling  contrivance  may  be  to 
the  simplicity  of  the  affection  and  the  grandeurV 
and  unity  of  the  imagination.  O  dearest  Wil- 
liam! would  Ray  or  Durham  have  spoken  of 
God  as  you  spoke  of  Nature  ? 

Hazlitt  to  the  feelings  of  anger  and  hatred,  w,  li. 
29 


ANIMA  POETyE 

phosphorus  —  it  is  but  to  open  the  cork  and  it 
flames  —  but  to  love  and  serviceable  friendship, 
let  them,  like  Nebuchadnezzar,  heat  the  furnace 
with  a  sevenfold  heat,  this  triune,  Shadrach, 
Meshach,  Abed-nego,  will  shiver  in  the  midst 
of  it. 

THE  oRi-        I  sate  for  my  picture    [to   Hazlitt]  —  heard 
EVIL  from  Southey  the  "  Institution  of  the  Jesuits," 

OotoW '^'  <l^^i"^^o  which  some  interesting  idea  occurred  to 
27, 1803  me,  and  has  escaped.  I  made  out,  however,  the 
whole  business  of  the  origin  of  evil  satisfactorily 
to  my  own  mind,  and  forced  PI.  to  confess  that 
the  metaphysical  argument  reduced  itself  to  this. 
Why  did  not  infinite  Power  always  exclusively 
produce  such  beings  as  in  each  moment  of  their 
duration  were  infinite?  why,  in  short,  did  not 
the  Almighty  create  an  absolutely  infinite  number 
of  Almighties  ?  The  hollowness  and  impiety  of 
the  argument  will  be  felt  by  considering  that, 
suppose  a  universal  happiness,  a  perfection  of 
the  moral  as  well  as  natural  world,  still  the 
whole  objection  applies  just  as  forcibly  as  at  this 
moment.  The  malignity  of  the  Deity  (I  shudder 
even  at  the  assumption  of  this  affrightful  and 
Satanic  language)  is  manifested  in  the  creation 
of  archangels  and  cherubs  and  the  whole  com- 
pany of  pure  Intelligences  burning  in  their  un- 
quenchable felicity,  equally  as  in  the  creation 
of  Neros  and  Tiberluses,  of  stone  and  leprosy. 
Suppose  yourself  perfectly  happy,  yet,  according 
to  this  argument,  you  ought  to  charge  God  with 
malignity  for  having  created  you  —  your  own 
life  and  all  its  comforts  are  in  the  indictment 
against  the  Creator  —  for  surely  even  a  child 
30 


ANIMA  POETiE 

would  be  ashamed  to  answer,  "  No !  I  should  still 
exist,  only  in  that  case,  instead  of  being  a  man, 
I  should  be  an  infinite  being."  As  if  the  word 
/  here  had  even  the  remotest  semblance  of  a 
meaning.  Infinitely  more  absurd  than  if  I 
should  write  the  fraction  y  qVo  ^^  ^  slate,  then 
rub  it  out  with  my  sponge,  and  write  in  the  same 
place  the  integral  number  555,066,879,  and  then 
observe  that  the  former  figure  was  greatly  im- 
proved by  the  measure,  that  it  was  grown  a  far 
finer  figure  !  —  conceiting  a  change  where  there 
had  been  positive  substitution.  Thus,  then,  it 
appears  that  the  sole  justification  of  those  who, 
offended  by  the  vice  and  misery  of  the  created 
world,  as  far  as  we  know  it,  impeach  the  power 
and  goodness  of  the  Almighty,  making  the  proper 
cause  of  such  vice  and  misery  to  have  been  a 
defect  either  of  power  or  goodness  —  it  appears, 
I  say,  that  their  sole  justification  rests  on  an 
argument  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  vice  and 
misery,  as  vice  and  misery  —  on  an  argument 
which  would  hold  equally  good  in  heaven  as  in 
hell  —  on  an  argument  which  it  might  be  demon- 
strated no  human  being  in  a  state  of  happiness 
could  ever  have  conceived  —  an  argument  which 
a  millennium  would  annihilate,  and  which  yet 
would  hold  equally  good  then  as  now  !  But  even 
in  point  of  metaphysics  the  whole  rests  at  last  on 
the  conceivable.  Now,  I  appeal  to  every  man's 
internal  consciousness,  if  he  will  but  sincerely 
and  in  brotherly  simplicity  silence  the  bustle  of 
argument  in  his  mind  and  the  ungenial  feelings 
that  mingle  with  and  fill  up  the  mob,  and  then 
ask  his  own  intellect  whether,  supposing  he  could 
conceive  the  creation  of  positively  infinite  and  co- 
31 


ANIMA  POETJi: 

equal  beings,  and  whether,  supposing  this  not 
only  possible  but  real,  this  has  exhausted  his 
notion  of  creatahility  ?  whether  the  intellect,  by 
an  unborn  and  original  law  of  its  essence,  does 
not  demand  of  infinite  power  more  than  merely 
infinity  of  number,  infinity  of  sorts  and  orders  ? 
Let  him  have  created  this  infinity  of  infinites, 
still  there  is  space  in  the  imagination  for  the 
creation  of  finites ;  but  instead  of  these,  let  him 
again  create  infinites ;  yet  still  the  same  space  is 
left,  it  is  no  way  filled  up.  I  feel,  too,  that  the 
whole  rests  on  a  miserable  sophism  of  applying 
to  an  Almighty  Being  such  words  as  all.  Why 
were  not  all  Gods  ?  But  there  is  no  all  in  crea- 
tion. It  is  composed  of  infinites,  and  the  imagi- 
nation, bewildered  by  heaping  infinites  on  infinites 
and  wearying  of  demanding  increase  of  number 
to  a  number  which  it  conceives  already  infinite, 
deserted  by  images  and  mocked  by  words,  whose 
sole  substance  is  the  inward  sense  of  difficulty 
that  accompanies  all  our  notions  of  infinity  ap- 
plied to  numbers,  turns  with  delight  to  distinct 
images  and  clear  ideas,  contemplates  a  world,  an 
harmonious  system,  where  an  infinity  of  kinds 
subsist  each  in  a  multitude  of  individuals  appor- 
tionate  to  its  kind  in  conformity  to  laws  existing 
in  the  divine  nature,  and  therefore  in  the  nature 
of  things.  We  cannot,  indeed,  jirove  this  in  any 
other  way  than  by  finding  it  as  impossible  to 
deny  omniform,  as  eternal,  agency  to  God  —  by 
finding  it  impossible  to  conceive  that  an  omni- 
scient Being  should  not  have  a  distinct  idea  of 
finite  beings,  or  that  distinct  ideas  in  the  mind  of 
God  should  be  without  the  perfection  of  real 
existence,  that  is,  imperfect.  But  this  is  a  proof 
32 


ANIMA  POET^ 

subtle  indeed,  yet  not  more  so  than  the  difficidty. 
The  intellect  that  can  start  the  one  can  under- 
stand tlie  other,  if  his  vices  do  not  prevent  him. 
Admit  for  a  moment  that  "  conceive  "  is  equiva- 
lent to  creation  in  the  divine  nature,  synony- 
mous with  "  to  beget  "(a  feeling  which  has  given 
to  marriage  a  mysterious  sanctity  and  sacramen- 
tal significance  in  the  mind  of  many  great  and 
good  men)  —  admit  this,  and  all  difficulty  ceases, 
all  tumult  is  hushed,  all  is  clear  and  beautiful. 
We  sit  in  the  dark,  but  each  by  the  side  of  his 
little  fire,  in  his  own  group,  and  lo !  the  summit 
of  the  distant  mountain  is  smitten  with  light. 
All  night  long  it  has  dwelt  there,  and  we  look  at 
it  and  know  that  the  sun  is  not  extinguished, 
that  he  is  elsewhere  bright  and  vivifying,  that 
he  is  coming  to  us,  to  make  our  fires  needless ; 
yet,  even  now,  that  our  cold  and  darkness  are  so 
called  only  in  comparison  with  the  heat  and  light 
of  the  coming  day,  never  wholly  deserted  of  the 
rays. 

This  I  wrote  on  Friday  morning,  forty  minutes 
past  three  o'clock,  the  sky  covered  with  one 
cloud  that  yet  lies  in  dark  and  light  shades,  and 
though  one  smooth  cloud,  by  the  dark  color  it 
appears  to  be  stepi^y. 

Dozing,  dreamt  of  Hartley  as  at  his  christen-  a  dreaji 
ing,  —  how,  as  he  was  asked  who  redeemed  him,  paken- 
and  was  to    say,  "  God   the    Son,"  he  went  on  p"j^*;'^ 
humming  and  hawing  in  one  hum  and  haw  (like  nioniins:, 
a  boy  who  knows  a  thing  and  will  not  make  the 
effort  to  recollect)  so  as  to  irritate  me  greatly. 
Awakening  gradually,  I  was  able  completely  to 
detect  that  it  was  the  ticking  of  my  watch,  which 
33 


ANIMA  POET^ 

lay  in  the  pen-place  in  ray  desk,  on  the  round 
table  close  by  my  ear,  and  which,  in  the  diseased 
state  of  my  nerves,  had  fretted  on  my  ears.  I 
caught  the  fact  while  Hartley's  face  and  moving 
lips  were  yet  before  my  eyes,  and  his  hum  and 
haw  and  the  ticking  of  the  watch  were  each  the 
other,  as  often  happens  in  the  passing  off  of 
sleep, —  that  curious  modification  of  ideas  by  each 
other  which  is  the  element  of  hulls.  I  arose  in- 
stantly and  wrote  it  down.  It  is  now  ten  minutes 
past  five. 

To  return  to  the  question  of  evil,  —  woe  to 
the  man  to  whom  it  is  an  uninteresting  question, 
though  many  a  mind  over-wearied  by  it  may 
shun  it  with  dread.  And  here  —  N.  B.  — 
scourged  with  deserved  and  lofty  scorn  those 
critics  who  laugh  at  the  discussion  of  old  ques- 
tions :  God,  right  and  wrong,  necessity  and  arbit- 
rement,  evil,  etc.  No !  forsooth,  the  question 
must  be  new,  spicy,  hot  gingerbread,  from  a 
French  constitution  to  a  balloon,  change  of  min- 
istry, or,  Which  had  the  best  of  it  in  the  parlia- 
mentary duel,  AVyndham  or  Sheridan  ?  or,  at  the 
best,  a  chymical  thing,  [or]  whether  the  new  celes- 
tial bodies  shall  be  called  planets  or  asteroids, 
—  something  new  [it  must  be],  something  out 
of  themselves,  —  for  whatever  is  in  them  is  deep 
within  them  —  must  be  old  as  elementary  nature, 
[but]  to  find  no  contradiction  in  the  union  of  old 
and  novel  —  to  contemplate  the  Ancient  of  Days 
with  feelings  new  as  if  they  then  sprang  forth  at 
His  own  Fiat  —  this  marks  the  mind  that  feels 
the  riddle  of  the  world,  and  may  help  to  unravel 
it.  But  to  return  to  the  question.  The  whole 
34 


ANIMA  POET^ 

rests  on  the  sophism  of  imaginary  change  in  a 
ease  of  positive  substitution.  This,  I  fully  be- 
lieve, settles  the  question.  The  assertion  that 
there  is  in  the  essence  of  the  divine  nature  a 
necessity  of  omniform  harmonious  action,  and 
that  order  and  system  (not  number  —  in  itself 
base,  disorderly,  and  irrational)  define  the  crea- 
tive energy,  determine,  and  employ  it,  and  that 
number  is  subservient  to  order,  regulated,  or- 
ganized, made  beautiful  and  rational,  an  object 
both  of  imagination  and  intellect  by  order,  — 
this  is  no  mere  assertion,  it  is  strictly  in  harmony 
with  the  fact.  For  the  world  appears  so,  and  it 
is  proved  by  whatever  proves  the  being  of  God. 
Indeed,  it  is  involved  in  the  idea  of  God. 

What  is  it  that  I  employ  my  metaj)hysics  on  ?  the  aim 
To  perplex  our  clearest  notions  and  liidng  moral  meta- 
instincts?     To  extinguish  the  light  of  love  and  *'"^^'^ 
of  conscience,  to   put   out   the  life   of  arbitre- 
ment,  to  make  myself  and  others  tcoHhIess,  soul- 
less, Godless  f    No,  to  expose  the  folly  and  the 
legerdemain  of  those  who  have  thus  abused  the 
blessed  organ  of   language,  to   support   all  old 
and  venerable  truths,  to  support,  to  kindle,  to 
project,  to  make  the  reason  spread  light  over  our 
feelings,  to  make  our  feelings  diffuse  vital  warmth 
through  our  reason,  —  these  are  my  objects  and 
these  my  subjects.     Is  this  the  metaphysic  that 
bad  spirits  in  hell  delight  in  ? 

The  voice  of  the  Greta  and  the  cock-crowing,  ix  the 
The  voice   seems  to   grow   like  a  flower   on  or  of^the 
about  the  water  beyond  the   bridge,  while  the  ^'^"^ 
cock-crowing  is   nowhere   particiUar,  —  it   is  at  is03, 
35 


ANIMA  POET^ 

Wednes-  any  place  I  imagine  and  do  not  distinctly  see. 
Ing,  20^™'  -^  niost  remarkable  sky !  tlie  moon,  now  waned 
minutes  ^q  g^  perfect  ostrich  egg,  hangs  over  our  house 
o'clock  almost,  only  so  much  beyond  it,  garden-\vard, 
that  I  can  see  it,  holding  my  head  out  of  the 
smaller  study  window.  The  sky  is  covered  with 
whitish  and  with  dingy  cloudage,  thin  dingiest 
scud  close  under  the  moon,  and  one  side  of  it 
moving,  all  else  moveless ;  but  there  are  two 
great  breaks  of  blue  sky,  the  one  stretches  over 
our  house  and  away  toward  Castlerigg,  and  this 
is  speckled  and  blotched  with  white  cloud ;  the 
other  hangs  over  the  road,  in  the  line  of  the 
road,  in  the  shape  of  an  ellipse  or  shuttle,  I  do 
not  know  what  to  call  it,  —  this  is  unspeckled, 
all  blue,  three  stars  in  it,  —  more  in  the  former 
break,  all  unmoving.  The  water  leaden-white, 
even  as  the  gray  gleam  of  water  is  in  latest  twi- 
light. Now  while  I  have  been  writing  this  and 
gazing  between  whiles  (it  is  forty  minutes  past 
two),  the  break  over  the  road  is  swallowed  up, 
and  the  stars  gone  ;  the  break  over  the  house  is 
narrowed  into  a  rude  circle,  and  on  the  edge  of 
its  circumference  one  very  bright  star.  See  !  al- 
ready the  white  mass,  thinning  at  its  edge,  Jights 
with  its  brilliance.  See !  it  has  bedimmed  it, 
and  now  it  is  gone,  and  the  moon  is  gone.  The 
cock-crowing  too  has  ceased.  The  Greta  sounds 
on  forever.  But  I  hear  only  the  ticking  of  my 
watch  in  the  pen-place  of  my  writing-desk  and 
the  far  lower  note  of  the  noise  of  the  fire,  per- 
petual, yet  seeming  uncertain.  It  is  the  low 
voice  of  quiet  change,  of  destruction  doing  its 
work  by  little  and  little. 

36 


ANIMA   POET^ 

O  !  the  imj^udence  of  those  who  dare  hold  auri 
l)roperty  to  be  the  great  binder-up  of  the  affec-  fames 
tions  of  the  young  to  the  old,  etc.,  and  Godwin's 
folly  in  his  book  !  Two  brothers  in  this  country 
fought  in  the  mourning  -  coach,  and  stood  with 
black  eyes  and  their  black  clothes  all  blood  over 
their  father's  grave. 


Poor  Miss  Dacre  !  born  with  a  spinal  deform-  early 
ity  that  prophesied  the  early  death  it  occasioned.  Novem- 
Such  are  generally  gentle  and  innocent  beings.      '  ^^'^ 
God  seems  to  stamp  on  their  foreheads  the  seal 
of   death,    in    sign    of   appropriation.      No   evil 
dares  approach  the  sacred  hieroglyphic  on  this 
seal  of  redemption  ;  we  on  earth  interpret  early 
death,  but   the   heavenly   spirits,  that   minister 
around  us,  read  in  it  "  Abiding  innocence." 

Something  to  me  delicious  in  the  thought  that 
one  who  dies  a  baby  presents  to  the  glorified 
Saviour  and  Redeemer  that  same  sweet  face  of 
infancy  which  He  blessed  when  on  earth,  and 
sanctified  with  a  kiss,  and  solemnly  pronounced 
to  be  the  type  and  sacrament  of  regeneration. 

The  town,  with  lighted  windows  and  noise  of  the 
the  clogged  passengers  in  the  streets,  —  sound  of  su/e  of 
the  unseen  river.     Mountains   scarcely  perceiv-  November 
able  except  by  eyes  Ion":  used  to  them,  and  sup-  9,  Wednes- 

X    1  1     \i        •  r  n       •  .        ^   day  niKht, 

ported  by  the  images  or  memory  liowmg  ni  on  45  min. 

the  impulses  of  immediate  impression.     On  the  ^'^ 

sky,  black  clouds ;  two  or  three  dim,  untwinkling 

stars,  like  full  stops  on  damp  paper,  and  large 

stains  and  spreads  of  sullen  white,  like  a  tunic 

of  white  wool  seen  here  and  there  throufch  a  torn 

37 


ANIMA  POET^ 

and  tattered  cloak  of  black.  Whence  do  these 
stains  of  white  proceed  aU  over  the  sky,  so  long 
after  sunset,  and,  from  their  indifference  of  place 
in  the  sky,  seemingly  unaffected  by  the  west  ? 


November 
10,  i  past 
2  o'clock, 
morning 


Tuesday 
night, 
i  after  7 


Awoke,  after  long  struggles,  from  a  persecut- 
ing dream.  The  tale  of  the  dream  began  in  two 
images,  in  two  sons  of  a  nobleman,  desperately 
fond  of  shooting,  brought  out  by  the  footman  to 
resign  their  property,  and  to  be  made  believe 
that  they  had  none.  They  were  far  too  cunning 
for  that,  and  as  they  struggled  and  resisted  their 
cruel  wrongers,  and  my  interest  for  them,  I  sup- 
pose, increased,  I  became  they,  —  the  duality 
vanished,  —  Boyer  and  Christ's  Hospital  became 
concerned ;  yet,  still,  the  former  story  was  kept 
up,  and  I  was  conjuring  him,  as  he  met  me  in 
the  street,  to  have  pity  on  a  nobleman's  orphan, 
when  I  was  carried  up  to  bed,  and  was  strug- 
gling up  against  some  unknown  impediment,  — 
when  a  noise  of  one  of  the  doors  awoke  me. 
Drizzle ;  the  sky  uncouthly  marbled  with  white 
vapors  and  large  black  clouds,  their  surface  of 
a  fine  woolly  grain,  but  in  the  height  and  key- 
stone of  the  arch  a  round  space  of  sky  with  dim 
watery  stars,  like  a  friar's  crown ;  the  seven 
stars  in  the  central  seen  through  white  vapor 
that,  entirely  shapeless,  gave  a  whiteness  to  the 
circle  of  the  sky,  but  stained  with  exceedingly 
thin  and  subtle  flakes  of  black  vapor,  might  be 
happily  said  in  language  of  Boccace  (describing 
Demogorgon,  in  his  G enealogia  De  Gil  Dei)  to 
be  vestito  cZ'  una  pallidezza  affumicata. 

The  sky  covered  with  stars,  the  wind  up,  — 
right  opposite  my  window,  over  Brandelhow,  as 
38 


ANIMA  POET^ 

its  centre,  and  extending  from  the  gorge  to 
Whinlatter,  an  enormous  black  cloud,  exactly  in 
the  shape  of  an  egg,  —  this,  the  only  cloud  in  all 
the  sky,  impressed  me  with  a  demoniacal  gran- 
deur.    O,  for  change  of  weather  ! 

The  sky,  in  ujDon  Grysdale  Pike  and  onward  Sunday 
to  the  Withoj)  Fells,  floored  with  flat,  smooth,  No^Ts^' 
dark  or  dingy  clouds,  elsewhere  starry.  Though  -  ^^^ " 
seven  stars  and  all  the  rest  in  the  height  of  the 
heaven  be  dimmed,  those  in  the  descent  bright 
and  frosty.  The  river  has  a  loud  voice,  self- 
biographer  of  to-day's  rain  and  thunder-showers. 
The  owls  are  silent ;  they  have  been  very  musi- 
cal. All  weathers  on  Satm-day  the  twelfth,  storm 
and  frost,  sunshine,  lightning,  and  what  not ! 
God  be  praised,  though  sleepless,  am  marvel- 
lously bettered,  and  I  take  it  for  granted  that 
the  barometer  has  risen.  I  have  been  readins: 
Barrow's  treatise  "  On  the  Pope's  Supremacy," 
and  have  made  a  note  on  the  L^ E Strang eisin  of 
his  style  whenever  his  thoughts  rendered  it  pos- 
sible for  the  words  to  be  pert,  frisky,  and  vidgar, 
—  which,  luckily,  could  not  be  often,  from  the 
gravity  of  his  subjects,  the  solidity  and  appro- 
priateness of  his  thoughts,  and  that  habitual 
geometrical  precision  of  mind  which  demanded 
the  most  appropriate  words.  He  seems  to  me 
below  South  in  dignity  ;  at  least.  South  never 
sinks  so  low  as  B.  sometimes. 


A  pretty  optical  fact  occurred  this  morning,  an  opti- 
As  I  was  returning  from  Fletcher's,  up  the  back  lusion' 
lane  and  just  in  sight  of  the  river,  I  saw,  float- 
ing high  in  the  air,  somewhere  over  Mr.  Banks's, 
a  noble  kite.     I  continued  gazing  at  it  for  some 
39 


ANIMA  POET^ 

time,  when,  turning  suddenly  round,  I  saw  at 
an  equi-distance  on  my  right,  that  is,  over  the 
middle  of  our  field,  a  pair  of  kites  floating 
about.  I  looked  at  them  for  some  seconds, 
when  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  never  before 
seen  two  kites  together,  and  instantly  the  vision 
disaj)peared.  It  was  neither  more  nor  less  than 
two  pair  of  leaves,  each  pair  on  a  separate  stalk, 
on  a  young  fruit  tree  that  grew  on  the  other  side 
of  the  wall,  not  two  yards  from  my  eye.  The 
leaves  being  alternate,  did,  when  I  looked  at 
them  as  leaves,  strikingly  resemble  wings,  and 
they  were  the  only  leaves  on  the  tree.  The  mag- 
nitude was  given  by  the  imagined  distance,  that 
distance  by  the  former  adjustment  of  the  eye, 
which  7'emcdned  in  consequence  of  the  deep  im- 
pression, the  length  of  time  I  had  been  looking 
at  the  kite,  the  pleasure,  etc.,  and  [the  fact  that] 
a  new  object  [had]  impressed  itself  on  the  eye. 

THK  In  Plotinus  the  system  of  the  Quakers  is  most 

beautifully  expressed  in  the  fifth  book  of  the 
Fifth  Ennead  (he  is  speaking  of  "  the  inward 
light ")  :  "  It  is  not  lawful  to  inquire  from 
whence  it  originated,  for  it  neither  approached 
hither,  nor  again  departs  from  hence  to  some 
other  place,  but  it  either  appears  to  us,  or  does 
not  appear.  So  that  we  ought  not  to  pursue  it 
as  if  with  a  view  of  discerning  its  latent  original, 
but  to  abide  in  quiet  till  it  suddenly  shines  upon 
us,  preparing  ourselves  for  the  blessed  sj^ectacle, 
like  the  eye  waiting  for  the  rising  sun." 


INWARD 
LIGHT 


PAR8  AL-        My  nature  requires  another  nature  for  its  sup- 
port, and  reposes  only  in  another  from  the  ueces- 
40 


TERA  MEI 


ANIMA  POET^ 

sary  indigence  of  its  being.  Intensely  similar 
yet  not  the  same  [must  that  other  be]  ;  or,  may 
I  venture  to  say,  the  same  indeed,  but  dissimilar, 
as  the  same  breath  sent  with  the  same  force,  the 
same  pauses,  and  the  same  melody  pre-imaged  in 
the  mind,  into  the  flute  and  the  clarion  shall  be 
the  same  soul  diversely  incarnate. 

"  All  things  desire  that  which  is  first  from  a  not  thk 
necessity  of  nature,  prophesying,  as  it  were,  that  kul  but 
they  cannot  subsist  without  the  energies  of  that  ^""^  ^'^^^ 
first  nature.     But  beauty  is  not  first,  it  happens 
only  to    intellect,  and    creates   restlessness    and 
seeking  ;   but  good,  which  is  present  from  the 
beginning  and  unceasingly  to  our  innate  appe- 
tite,  abides  with  us  even  in   sleep,   and    never 
seizes  the  mind  with  astonishment,  and  requires 
no  peculiar  reminiscence  to   convince  us  of   its 
presence."  —  Plotinus. 

This  is  just  and  profound,  yet  perfect  beauty 
being  an  abstract  of  good,  m  and  for  that  jjar- 
ticular  form  excites  in  me  no  passion  but  that  of 
an  admiration  so  quiet  as  scarcely  to  admit  of 
the  name  passion,  but  one  that,  participating  in 
the  same  root  of  soul,  does  yet  spring  up  with 
excellences  that  I  have  not.  To  this  I  am  driven 
by  a  desire  of  self-completion  with  a  restless  in- 
extinguishable love.  God  is  not  all  things,  for 
in  this  case  He  would  be  indigent  of  all ;  but  all 
things  are  God,  and  eternally  indigent  of  God. 
And  in  the  original  meaning  of  the  essence  as 
predicable  of  that  concerning  which  you  can  say, 
This  is  he,  or  That  is  he  (this  or  that  rather  than 
any  other),  in  this  sense  of  the  word  essence,  I 
perfectly  coincide  with  the  Platonists  and  Ploti- 
41 


ANIMA   POETiE 


nists  that,  if  we  add  to  the  nature  of  God  either 
essence  or  intellect  or  beauty,  we  deprive  Him  of 
being  the" Good  himself,  the  only  One,  the  purely 
and  absolutely  One. 

A  MOON  After  a  night  of  storm  and  rain,  the  sky  cahn 

Friday,  and  Avliitc,  by  blue  vapor  thinning  into  formless- 

J^qI*  ^^'  ness  instead  of  clouds,  the  mountains  of  height 

morning,  covered   witli    snow,    the    secondary   mountains 

4o  minutes  . 

past  2  black.  The  moon  descending  aslant  the  \/a, 
through  the  midst  of  which  the  great  road 
winds,  set  exactly  behind  Whinlatter  Point, 
marked  a.  She  being  an  egg,  somewhat  un- 
couthly  shaped,  perhaps,  but  an  ostrich's  egg 
rather  than  any  other  (she  is  two  nights  more 
than  a  half-moon),  she  set  behind  the  black 
point,  fitted  herself  on  to  it  like  a  cap  of  fire, 
then  became  a  crescent,  then  a  mountain  of  fire 
in  the  distance,  then  the  peak  itself  on  fire,  one 
steady  flame ;  then  stars  of  the  first,  second,  and 
third  magnitude,  and  vanishing,  upboiled  a  swell 
of  light,  and  in  the  next  second  the  whole  sky, 
which  had  been  sahle  bhce  around  the  yellow 
moon,  whitened  and  brightened  for  as  large  a 
space  as  would  take  the  moon  half  an  hour  to 
descend  throuc-h. 


THE 
DEATH 
OF  ADAM 
A  DKEAM 

Dec.  6, 
1803 


Adam,  travelling  in  his  old  age,  came  to  a  set 
of  the  descendants  of  Cain,  ignorant  of  the  origin 
of  the  world,  and,  treating  him  as  a  madman, 
killed  him.     A  sort  of  dream  which  I  had  this 


night. 


A  MAN 's  A      We  ought  to  suspect  reasoning  founded  wholly 
A'  THAT     on  the  difference  of  man  from  man,  not  on  their 

42 


ANIMA  POET^ 

commonnesses,  which  are  infinitely  greater.  So 
I  doubt  the  wisdom  of  the  treatment  of  sailors 
and  criminals,  because  it  is  wholly  grounded  on 
their  vices,  as  if  the  vices  formed  the  whole  or 
major  part  of  their  being. 

Abstruse  reasoning  is  to  the  inductions  of  com-  a  de- 
mon  sense  what  reapmg  is  to  delving.     iJut  the  meta- 
implements  with  which  we  reap,  how  are  they  ^"^^ 
gained?    By  delving.     Besides,  what  is  common 
sense  now  was  abstract  reasoning  with  earlier  ages. 

A  beautiful  sunset,  the  sun  setting  behind  New-  ^^ ^'-'^f^*^'^ 
lands  across  the  foot  of  the  lake.  The  sky  is 
cloudless,  save  that  there  is  a  cloud  on  Skiddaw, 
one  on  the  highest  mountains  in  Borrowdale, 
some  on  Helvellyn,  and  that  the  sun  sets  in  a 
glorious  cloud.  These  clouds  are  of  various  shapes, 
various  colors,  and  belong  to  their  mountains 
and  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  sky.  N.  B.  — 
There  is  something  metallic,  silver  playfully  and 
imperfectly  gilt  and  highly  polished,  or,  rather, 
something  mother-of-pearlish,  in  the  sun-gleams 
on  ice,  thin  ice. 

I  have  repeatedly  said  that  I  could  make  a  extremes 
volume  if  only  I  had  noted  down,  as  they  occurred  * 
to  my  recollection,  the  instances  of  the  proverb 
"  Extremes  Meet."  This  night,  Sunday,  Decem- 
ber 11,  1803,  half  past  eleven,  I  have  determined 
to  devote  the  last  nine  pages  of  my  pocket-book 
to  a  collection  of  the  same. 

1.  The  parclnng  air 

Burns  frore,  and  cold  performs  the  effect  of  fire. 

Paradise  Lost,  ii.  594. 

43 


ANBIA  POET^E 

2.  Insects  by  tiieir  smalluess,  the  mammotli 
by  its  liugeness,  terrible. 

3.  In  the  foam-islands  in  a  fiercely  boiling 
pool,  at  the  bottom  of  a  waterfall,  there  is  same- 
ness from  infinite  change. 

4.  The  excess  of  humanity  and  disinterested- 
ness in  polite  society,  the  desire  not  to  give  pain, 
for  example,  not  to  talk  of  your  own  diseases  and 
misfortunes,  and  to  introduce  nothing  but  what 
will  give  pleasure,  destroy  all  humanity  and  dis- 
interestedness, by  making  it  intolerable,  through 
desuetude,  to  listen  to  the  complaints  of  our 
equals,  or  of  any,  where  the  listening  does  not 
gratify  or  excite  some  vicious  pride  and  sense  of 
superiority. 

5.  It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  a  perfectly  un- 
heard-of subject  or  a  cramhe  his  cocta,  if  chosen 
by  a  man  of  genius,  would  excite  in  the  higher 
degree  the  sense  of  novelty.  Take,  as  an  in- 
stance of  the  latter,  the  Orestes  of  Sotheby. 

6.  Dark  with  excess  of  light. 

7.  Self  -  absorption  and  w^orldly  -  mindedness. 
(N.  B.  —  The  latter  a  most  philosophical  word.) 

8.  The  dim  intellect  sees  an  absolute  oneness, 
the  perfectly  clear  intellect  Tcnoioingly  j^ci'ceives 
it.     Distinction  and  plurality  lie  in  the  betwixt. 

9.  The  naked  savage  and  the  gymnosophist. 

10.  Nothing  and  intensest  absolute  being. 

11.  Despotism  and  ochlocracy. 

AHSTRusK       A  dirty  business  !    "  How,"  said  I,  with  a  great 
effort  to  conquer  my  laziness  and  a  great  wish  to 
rest  in  the  generality  —  "  what  do  you  include  un- 
der the  words  '  dirty  business  '  ?  "    I  note  this  in 
44 


KESEAKCH 


ANIMA  POET^ 

order  to  remember  the  reluctance  tlie  mind  has 
in  general  to  analysis. 

The  soul  within  the  hody  —  can  I,  anyway, 
compare  this  to  the  reflection  of  the  fire  seen 
through  my  window  on  the  solid  wall,  seeming, 
of  course,  within  the  solid  wall,  as  deep  within 
as  the  distance  of  the  fire  from  the  wall.  I  fear 
I  can  make  nothing  out  of  it ;  but  why  do  I  al- 
ways hurry  awaj^  from  any  interesting  thought  to 
do  something  uninteresting  ?  As,  for  instance, 
when  this  thought  struck  me,  I  turned  off. my  at- 
tention suddenly  and  went  to  look  for  the  copy 
of  Wolff  which  I  had  missed.  Is  it  a  cowardice 
of  all  deep  feeling,  even  though  pleasurable  ?  or 
is  it  laziness  ?  or  is  it  something  less  obvious  than 
either?  Is  it  connected  with  my  ej)istolary  em- 
barrassments ? 

["  The  window  of  my  library  at  Keswick  is 
opposite  to  the  fireijlace.  At  the  coming  on  of 
evening,  it  was  my  frequent  amusement  to  watch 
the  image  or  reflection  of  the  fire  that  seemed 
burning  in  the  bushes  or  between  the  trees  in 
different  parts  of  the  garden."  —  The  Friend. 
Coleridge's  Works,  ii.  135.] 

As  I  was  sitting  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  reading 
with  my  face  downwards,  I  saw  a  i3hantom  of  my 
face  upon  the  nightcap  which  lay  just  on  the  mid- 
dle of  my  pillow,  it  was  indistinct  but  of  bright 
colors,  and  came  only  as  my  head  bent  low. 
Was  it  the  action  of  the  rays  of  my  face  upon 
my  eyes  ?  that  is,  did  my  eyes  see  my  face,  and 
from  the  sidelong  and  faint  action  of  the  rays 
place  the  image  in  that  situation?  But  I  moved 
the  nightcap  and  I  lost  it. 
45 


ANIMA  POET^ 

Dec.  19,  I   have   only   to  shut   niy  eyes    to    feel   how 

morning  ignorant  I  am  whence  these  forms  and  colored 
forms,  and  colors  distinguishable  beyond  what 
I  can  distinguish,  derive  their  birth.  These  vary- 
ing and  infinite  co-present  colors,  what  are  they  ? 
I  ask,  to  what  do  they  belong  in  my  waking  re- 
membrance ?  and  almost  never  receive  an  answer. 
Only  I  perceive  and  know  that  whatever  I 
change,  in  any  part  of  me,  produces  some  change 
in  these  eye-spectra ;  as,  for  instance,  if  I  press 
)    my  legs  or  change  sides. 


STREAMY 

ASSOCIA' 

TION 


OF  I  will  at  least  make  the  attempt  to  explain  to 

myself  the  origin  of  moral  evil  from  the  streamy 
nature  of  association,  which  thinking  curbs  and 
rudders.  Do  not  the  bad  passions  in  dreams 
throw  light  and  show  of  proof  upon  this  hypothe- 
sis ?  If  I  can  but  explain  those  passions  I  shall 
gain  light,  I  am  sure.  A  clue  !  a  clue !  a  Heca- 
tomb a  la  Pythagoras,  if  it  unlabyrinth  me. 

December  I  note  the  beautiful  luminous  shadow  of  my 
ii'o'clock  pencil  point  which  follows  it  from  the  candle, 
or  rather  goes  before  it  and  illuminates  the  word 
I  am  writing.  But,  to  resume,  take  in  the  bless- 
edness of  innocent  children,  the  blessedness  of 
sweet  sleep,  do  they  or  do  they  not  contradict 
the  argument  of  evil  from  streamy  associations  ? 
I  hope  not,  but  all'  is  to  be  thought  over  and 
into.  And  what  is  the  height  and  ideal  of  mere 
association?  Delirium.  But  how  far  is  this 
state  produced  by  pain  and  denaturalization? 
And  what  are  these  ?  In  short,  as  far  as  I  can 
see  anything  in  this  total  mist,  vice  is  imperfect 
yet  existing  volition,  giving  diseased  currents  of 
46 


FUL  EX- 
EKIJIENT 


ANIMA  POETiE 

association,   because  it  yields  on  all   sides  and 
yet  is  —  so,  too,  think  of  madness  ! 

December  30th,  half  past  one  o'clock,  or,  a  doubt 
rather,  Saturday  morning,  December  31st,  put  I 
rolled  bits  of  paper,  many  tiny  bits  of  wick,  some 
tallow,  and  the  soap  together.  The  whole  flame, 
equal  in  size  to  half  a  dozen  candles,  did  not 
give  the  light  of  one,  and  the  letters  of  the  book 
looked  by  the  unsteady  flare  just  as  through 
tears  or  in  dizziness  —  every  line  of  every  letter 
dislocated  into  angles,  or  like  the  mica  in  crum- 
bly stones. 


CHOLOGY 
OF  MC 
TION 


The  experiment  over  leaf  illustrates  my  idea  the  psy- 
of  motion,  namely,  that  it  is  a  presence  and  of  mo- 
absence  rapidly  alternating,  so  that  the  fits  of 
absence  exist  continuously  in  the  feeling,  and 
the  fits  of  presence  vice  versa  continuedly  in  the 
eye.  Of  course  I  am  speaking  of  motion  psy- 
chologically, not  physically,  what  it  is  in  us,  not 
what  the  supposed  mundane  cause  may  be.  I 
believe  that  what  we  call  motion  is  our  conscious- 
ness of  motion  arising  from  the  interruption  of 
motion,  the  action  of  the  soul  in  suffering  resist- 
ance. Free  unresisted  action,  the  going  forth 
of  the  soul,  life  without  consciousness,  is,  pro- 
perly, infinite,  that  is  unlimited.  For  whatever 
resists  limits,  and  whatever  is  unresisted,  is  un- 
limited. This,  psychologically  speaking,  is  space, 
while  the  sense  of  resistance  or  limitation  is 
time,  and  motion  is  a  synthesis  of  the  two.  The 
closest  approach  of  time  to  space  forms  co-exist- 
ent multitude. 

47 


ANIMA   POET^ 


RECOL- 
LECTION 
AND 
KEMEM- 
BRANCE 


There  is  an  important  distinction  between  the 
memory  or  reminiscent  faculty  of  sensation  which 
young  children  seem  to  possess  in  so  small  a 
degree,  from  their  perpetual  desire  to  have  a  tale 
repeated  to  them,  and  the  memory  of  words  and 
images  which  the  very  same  children  manifestly 
possess  in  an  unusual  degree,  even  to  sealing-wax 
accuracy  of  retention  and  representation. 


THE 
ETHICS 
OF  SPI- 
NOZA 


If  Spinoza  had  left  the  doctrine  of  miracles 
untouched,  and  had  not  written  so  powerfully  in 
support  of  universal  toleration,  his  ethics  would 
never  have  brought  on  him  the  charge  of  Athe- 
ism. His  doctrine,  in  this  respect,  is  truly  and 
severely  orthodox,  in  the  reformed  Church ; 
neither  do  I  know  that  the  Church  of  Eome 
has  authoritatively  decided  between  the  Spino- 
sists  and  Scotists  in  their  great  controversy  on 
the  nature  of  the  being  which  creatures  possess. 


A  UNITA- 
RIAN 
SCHOOL- 
MAN 


Creation  is  explained  by  Joannes  Scotus 
Erigena  as  only  a  manifestation  of  the  unity  of 
God  in  forms  —  etfit  et  facit^  et  creat  et  creatur. 
Lib.  4.  p.  7. 

P.  8.  A  curious  and  highly-philosophical  ac- 
count of  the  Trinity,  and  completely  Unitarian. 
God  is,  is  wise,  and  is  living.  The  essence  we 
call  Father,  the  wisdom  Son,  the  life  the  Holy 
Spirit.  And  he  positively  affirms  that  these  three 
exist  only  as  distinguishable  relations  —  hahitu- 
dines  ;  and  he  states  the  whole  doeti-ine  to  be  an 
invention  and  condescension  of  Theology  to  the 
intellect  of  man,  which  must  define,  and  conse- 
quently personify,  in  order  to  understand,  and 
must  have  some  j)hantora  of  understanding  in 
48 


ANIMA  POET^ 

order  to  keep  alive  in  the  heart  the  substantial 
faith.  They  are  fuel  to  the  sacred  fire  —  in  the 
empyrean  it  may  burn  without  fuel,  and  they 
who  do  so  are  seraphs. 

A  fine  epitheton  of  man  would  be  "  Lord  of  a  crowd 
fire  and  light."'     All  other  creatures  whose  ex-  thoughts 
istence  we  perceive  are  mere  alms-receivers  of 
both. 

A  company  of  children  driving  a  hungry,  hard- 
skinned  ass  out  of  a  corn-field.  The  ass  cannot 
by  such  weaklings  be  driven  so  hard  but  he  will 
feed  as  he  goes. 

Such  light  as  lovers  love,  when  the  waxing 
moon  steals  in  behind  a  black,  black  cloud, 
emeroino:  soon  enouo-h  to  make  the  blush  visible 
which  the  long  kiss  had  kindled. 

1 
All  notions  [remain]  hushed  in  the  phantasms 

of  place  and  time  that  still  escape  the  finest  sieve 

and  most  searching  winnow  of  our  reason  and 

abstraction. 

A  rosemary  tree,  large  as  a  timber  tree,  is  a 
sweet  sign  of  the  antiquity  and  antique  manners 
of  the  house  as^ainst  which  it  o'roweth.  Rose- 
mary  (says  Parkinson,  Theatrum  Botanicum^ 
London,  1640,  p.  76)  is  an  herb  of  as  great  use 
with  ITS  in  tliese  days  as  any  whatsoever,  not 
only  for  physical  but  civil  purposes  —  the  civil 
uses,  as  all  know,  are  at  weddings,  funerals,  etc., 
to  bestow  on  friends. 

49 


ANIMA   POETiE 

Great  harm  Is  done  by  bad  poets  in  trivializ- 
ing beautiful  expressions  and  images  and  asso- 
ciating disgust  and  indifference  with  the  techni- 
cal forms  of  poetry. 

Advantage  of  public  schools.  [They  teach 
men  to  be]  content  with  school  praise  when  they 
publish.     Apply  this  to  Cottle  and  J.  Jennings. 

Religious  slang  operates  better  on  women  than 
on  men.  N.  B.  —  Why  ?  I  will  give  over  —  it 
is  not  tanti ! 

Poem.  Ghost  of  a  mountain  —  the  forms, 
seizing  my  body  as  I  passed,  became  realities  — 
I  a  ghost,  till  I  had  reconquered  my  substance. 

The  sopha  of  sods.  Lack-wit  and  the  clock  — 
find  him  at  last  in  the  Yorkshire  cave,  where  the 
waterfall  is. 

[The  reference  is,  no  doubt,  to  Wordsworth's 
Idiot  Boy,  which  was  composed  at  Nether 
Stowey,  in  1798.  In  a  letter  addressed  to  John 
Wilson,  of  June  5,  1802,  Wordsworth  discusses 
and  discards  the  use  of  the  word  "lackwit"  as 
an  equivalent  to  "  idiot."  The  "  Sopha  of  Sods  " 
was  on  Latrigg.  In  her  journal  for  August, 
1800,  Dorothy  Wordsworth  records  the  making 
of  a  seat  on  Windybi'ow,  a  part  of  Latrigg. 
Possibly  this  was  the  "Sopha  of  Sods."  —  Life 
of  W.  Wordsioorth,  1889,  i.  268,  403.] 

The  old  stump  of  the  tree,  with  briar-roses  and 
bramble  leaves  wreathed  round  and  round  —  a 
bramble  arch  —  a  foxglove  in  the  centre. 
50 


ANIMA   POET^ 

The  palm,  still  faithful  to  forsaken  deserts,  an 
emblem  of  hoj)e. 

The  steadfast  rainbow  in  the  fast-moving,  fast- 
hurrying  hail-mist !  What  a  congregation  of 
images  and  feelings,  of  fantastic  permanence 
amidst  the  rapid  change  of  tempest  —  quietness 
the  daughter  of  storm.  ^ 

I  would  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  deserts  of  "  poeji  on 
Arabia  to  find   the   man  who   could  make   me  or  on  ' 
understand  how  the  one  can  he  many.     Eternal,  ^^'^"^^ 
universal  mystery !    It  seems  as  if  it  were  impos- 
sible, yet  it  ^s,  and  it  is  everywhere !     It  is  in- 
deed a  contradiction  in  teimis,  and  only  in  terms. 
It  is  the   co-presence  of  feeling  and  life,  limit- 
less by  their  very  essence,  with  form  by  its  very 
essence  limited,  determinable,  definite. 

Meditate  on  trans-substantiation  !  What  a  tran- 
eonception  of  a  miracle  !  Were  one  a  Catholic,  tiation 
what  a  sublime  oration  might  one  not  make  of 
it.  Perpetual,  Travtopical,  yet  offering  no  violence 
to  the  sense,  exercising  no  domination  over  the 
free-will  —  a  miracle  always  existing,  yet  per- 
ceived only  by  an  act  of  the  free-will  —  the  beau- 
tiful fuel  of  the  fire  of  faith  —  the  fire  must  be 
preexistent  or  it  is  not  fuel,  yet  it  feeds  and  sup- 
ports, and  is  necessary  to  feed  and  support,  the 
fire  that  converts  it  into  his  own  nature. 

Errors  beget  opposite  errors,  for  it  is  our  im-  the 
perfect  nature  to  run   into  extremes.     But  this  of  the 
trite,   because   ever-recurring,   truth    is    not   the  '^^'^^ 
whole.     Alas!    those  are  endangered  who  have 
61 


ANIMA  POET^ 

avoided  the  extremes,  as  if  among  the  Tartars, 
in  opposition  to  a  faction  that  had  unnaturally 
lengthened  their  noses  into  monstrosity,  there 
should  arise  another  who  had  cut  off  theirs  flat 
to  the  face,  Socinians  in  physiognomy.  The  few 
who  retained  their  noses  as  nature  made  them, 
and  reason  dictated,  would  assuredly  be  perse- 
cuted by  the  noseless  party  as  adherents  of  the 
rhinocerotists  or  monster-nosed  men,  which  is  the 
case  of  those  apxaa-mcrrai  [braves]  of  the  English 
Church,  called  Evangelicals.  Excess  of  Cal- 
vinism produced  Arminianism,  and  those  not  in 
excess  must  therefore  be  Calvinists  ! 


ALAS  !  To  a  former  friend  who  pleaded  how  near  he 

THEY  HAD  f^yj^^g^.^y  \^^^  bccu,  liow  ucar  and  close  a  friend ! 


BEEN 
FRIENDS 
IN  YOUTH 


Yes !  you  were,  indeed,  near  to  my  heart  and 
native  to  my  soul  —  a  part  of  my  being  and  its 
natural,  even  as  the  chaff  to  corn.  But  since 
that  time,  through  whose  fault  I  will  be  mute,  I 
have  been  thrashed  out  by  the  flail  of  exjierience. 
Because  you  have  been,  therefore,  never  more 
can  you  be  a  part  of  the  grain. 

Oct.  31,  The   full  moon  glided  behind  a  black  cloud. 

^*^^  And  what  then  ?  and  who  cared  ?     It  was  past 

PH<EBE       seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.     There  is  a  small 

IMPERA-  .  ° 

TOR  cloud  in  the  east,  not  larger  than  the  moon,  and 

ten  times  brighter  than  she !  So  passes  night, 
and  all  her  favors  vanish  in  our  minds  ungrate- 
ful! 


THE  ONE 
AND  THE 
iJOOI) 


In  the  chapter  on  abstract  ideas  I  might  in- 
troduce the  subject  by  quoting  the  eighth  Prop- 
osition of  Proclus'  Elements  of  Theology.     The 
52 


A(;ONY  OF 
THOUGHT 


ANIMA  POET.E 

whole  of  religion  seems  to  me  to  rest  on  and  in 
the  question  :  The  One  and  The  Good  —  are 
these  words  or  realities?  I  long  to  read  the 
schoolmen  on  the  subject. 

There  are  thoughts  that  seem  to  give  me  a  a  mortal 
power  over  my  own  life.  I  could  kill  myself 
by  persevering  in  the  thought.  Mem.,  to  de- 
scribe as  accurately  as  may  be  the  approximating 
symptoms.  I  met  something  very  like  this  ob- 
servation where  I  should  least  have  expected 
such  a  coincidence  of  sentiment,  such  sympathy 
with  so  wild  a  feeling  of  mine  —  in  p.  71  of 
Blount's  translation  of  The  Spanish  Rogue, 
1623. 

[I  have  been  unable  to  trace  the  reference,  as 
Edward  Blount's  translation  of  Aleman's  Guz- 
man  de   Alfarache   is  not  in  the  British  Mu- 
seum.] 

53 


CHAPTER  III. 


IS04. 

Home-sickness  is  no  baby-pang.  —  S.  T.  C. 


THE 

UNDISCI 
PLIKED 
WILL 


This  evening,  and  indeed  all  tliis  day,  I  ought 
to  have  been  reading  and  filling  the  margins  of 
Malthus.  ["  An  Essay  on  the  Princii^les  of 
Popidation,"  etc.,  London,  1803,  4to.  The  copy 
annotated  by  Coleridge  is  now  in  the  British 
Museum.] 

I  had  begun  and  found  it  pleasant.  Why  did 
I  neglect  it  ?  Because  I  ought  not  to  have  done 
this.  The  same  applies  to  the  reading  and  writ- 
ing of  letters,  essays,  etc.  Surely  this  is  well 
worth  a  serious  analysis,  that,  by  understanding, 
I  may  attempt  to  heal  it.  For  it  is  a  deep  and 
wide  disease  in  my  moral  nature,  at  once  elm- 
and-oak-rooted.  Is  it  love  of  liberty,  of  spon- 
taneity, or  what  ?  These  all  express,  but  do  not 
explain,  the  fact. 
Tuesday  After  I  had  got  into  bed  last  night  I  said  to 
January '1,  niysclf  that  I  had  been  pompously  enunciating 
as  a  difficulty  a  problem  of  easy  and  common 
solution,  —  viz.,  that  it  was  the  effect  of  associa- 
tion. From  infancy  up  to  manhood,  under  par- 
ents, schoolmasters,  inspectors,  etc.,  our  j)leasures 
and  j^leasant  self-chosen  pursuits  (self-chosen 
because  pleasant,  and  not  originally  pleasant 
because  self-chosen)  have  been  foi'cibly  inter- 
rupted, and  dull,  unintelligible  rudiments  or 
painful  tasks  imposed  upon  us  instead.  Now  all 
54 


1804 


ANIMA  POET^ 

duty  is  felt  as  a  command,  and  every  command 
is  of  the  nature  of  an  offence.  Duty,  therefore, 
by  the  law  of  association  being  felt  as  a  com- 
mand from  without,  would  naturally  call  up  the 
sensation  of  the  pain  roused  from  the  commands 
of  parents  and  schoolmasters.  But  I  awoke  this 
morning  at  half  past  one,  and  as  soon  as  disease 
permitted  me  to  think  at  all,  the  shallowness  and 
sophistry  of  this  solution  flashed  upon  me  at 
once.  I  saw  that  the  phenomenon  occurred  far, 
far  too  early ;  I  have  observed  it  in  infants  of 
two  or  three  months  old,  and  in  Hartley  I  have 
seen  it  turned  up  and  laid  bare  to  the  unarmed 
eye  of  the  merest  common  sense.  The  fact  is, 
that  interruption  of  itself  is  painful,  because,  and 
as  far  as,  it  acts  as  disruption.  And  thus  with- 
out any  reference  to,  or  distinct  recollection  of, 
my  former  theory  I  saw  great  reason  to  attribute 
the  effect,  wholly,  to  the  streamy  nature  of  the 
associative  faculty,  and  the  more,  as  it  is  evident 
that  they  labor  under  this  defect  who  are  most 
reverie-ish  and  streamy  —  Hartley,  for  instance, 
and  myself.  This  seems  to  me  no  common  cor- 
roboration of  my  former  thought  or  the  origin  of 
moral  evil  in  general. 

A  time  will  come  when  passiveness  will  attain  coci- 
the  dignity  of  worthy  activity,  when  men  shall  lauo- 
be  as  proud  within  themselves  of  having  re- 
mained in  a  state  of  deej)  tranquil  emotion, 
whether  in  reading  or  in  hearing  or  in  looking,  as 
they  now  are  in  having  figured  away  for  an  hour. 
Oh  !  how  few  can  transmute  activity  of  mind 
into  emotion !  Yet  they  are  as  active  as  the 
stirring  tempest,  and  playful  as  the  may-blossom 
65 


RAKK 


ANIMA  POET^ 

in  a  breeze  of  May,  who  can  yet  for  lionrs  to- 
gether remain  with  hearts  broad  awake,  and 
the  under  Stan  ding  asleep  in  all  but  its  retentive- 
ness  and  receptivity.  Yea,  and  (in)  the  latter 
(state  of  mind)  evince  as  great  genius  as  in  the 
former. 


A  SHEAF 
OF  ANEC- 
DOTES 

Sunday 
moming, 
Feb.  5, 
1804 


I  called  on  Charles  Lamb,  fully  expecting  him 
to  be  out,  and  intending  all  the  way  to  write  to 
him.  I  found  him  at  home,  and,  while  sitting  and 
talking  to  him,  took  the  pen  and  note-paper  and 
beo-an  to  write. 


As  soon  as  Holcroft  heard  that  Mary  AVoU- 
stonecraft  was  dead,  he  took  a  chaise  and  came 
with  incredible  speed  to  "  have  Mrs.  Godwin 
opened  for  a  remarkable  woman  "  ! 


Sunday 
morning, 
Feb.  13, 
1804 


Lady  Beaumont  told  me  that  when  she  was  a 
child,  previously  to  her  saying  her  prayers,  she 
endeavored  to  think  of  a  mountain  or  great  river, 
or  something  great,  in  order  to  raise  up  her  soul 
and  kindle  it. 


Rickman  has  a  tale  about  George  Dyer  and 
his  "Ode  to  the  Hero  Race."  "Your  Aunt, 
Sir,"  said  George  to  the  Man  of  Figures,  "your 
Aunt  is  a  very  sensible  woman.  Why  I  read. 
Sir,  my  Ode  to  her,  and  she  said  that  it  was  a 
very  pretty  Thing.  There  are  very  few  women, 
Sir  !  that  possess  that  fine  discrimination,  Sir !  " 


The  huge  Organ  Pipe  at  Exeter,  larger  than 
the  largest  at  Haarlem,  at  first  was  dumb.    Green 
determined  to  make  it  speak,  and  tried  all  means 
56 


ANIMA  POET^ 

in  vain,  till  at  last  he  made  a  second  pipe  pre- 
cisely alike,  and  placed  it  at  its  side.  Tlieu  it 
spoke. 

Sir  George  Beaumont  found  great  advantage 
in  learning  to  draw  from  Nature  through  gauze 
spectacles. 

At  Gottingen,  at  Blumenbach's  lectures  on 
Psychology,  when  some  anatomical  preparations 
were  being  handed  round,  there  came  in  and 
seated  himself  by  us  Englishmen  a  Hosjntator, 
one,  that  is,  who  attends  one  or  two  lectures 
unbidden  and  unforbidden  and  gratis,  as  a 
stranger,  and  on  a  claim,  as  it  were,  of  hospital- 
ity. This  Jlospes  was  the  uncouthest,  strangest 
fish,  pretending  to  human  which  I  ever  beheld. 
I  turned  to  Greenough,  and  "  Who  broke  his 
bottle  ?  "  I  whispered. 

Godwin  and  Holcroft  went  together  to  Under- 
wood's chambers.  "  Little  Mr.  Underwood," 
said  they,  "  we  are  perfectly  acquainted  with  the 
subject  of  your  studies,  only  ignorant  of  the 
particulars.  What  is  the  difference  between  a 
thermometer  and  a  barometer  ?  " 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  perceive  the  buddings  the  ad.»- 
of    virtuous    loves,    to   know    their    minutes  of 
increase,  their  stealth  and  silent  growings. 

A  pretty  idea,  that  of  a  good  soul  watching 
the  progress  of  an  attachment  from  the  first 
glance  to  the  time  when  the  lover  himself  be- 
comes conscious  of  it.  A  poem  for  my  "  Soother 
of  Absence." 

57 


LESCENCK 


ANIMA  POET^ 

THE  RAGE  To  J.  ToBiN,  Esq.,  ApvU  10,  1804. 

TioN  "  Men  who  habitually  enjoy  robust  health  have, 
too  generally,  the  trick,  and  a  very  cruel  one  it 
is,  of  imagining  that  they  discover  the  secret  of 
all  their  acquaintances'  ill  health  in  some  mal- 
practice or  other ;  and,  sometimes,  by  gravely 
asserting  this  here,  there,  and  everywhere  (as 
who  likes  his  penetration  [hid]  under  a  bushel?), 
they  not  only  do  all  they  can,  without  intending 
it,  to  deprive  the  poor  sufferer  of  that  sympathy 
which  is  always  a  comfort,  and  in  some  degree 
a  support  to  human  nature,  but,  likewise,  too 
often  implant  serious  alarm  and  uneasiness  in  the 
minds  of  the  person's  relatives  and  his  nearest 
and  dearest  connections.  Indeed  (but  that  I 
have  known  its  inutility,  that  I  should  be  ridicu- 
lously sinning  against  my  own  law  which  I  was 
propounding,  and  that  those  who  are  most  fond 
of  advising  are  the  least  able  to  hear  advice 
from  others,  as  the  passion  to  command  makes 
men  disobedient),  I  should  often  have  been  on 
the  point  of  advising  you  against  the  twofold 
rage  of  advising  and  of  discussing  character, 
both  the  one  and  the  other  of  which  infallibly 
generates  presumption  and  blindness  to  our  own 
faults.  Nay !  more  particularly  where,  from 
whatever  cause,  there  exists  a  slowness  to  under- 
stand, or  an  aptitude  to  mishear  and  consequently 
misunderstand,  what  has  been  said,  it  too  often 
renders  an  otherwise  truly  good  man  a  mischief- 
maker  to  an  extent  of  which  he  is  but  little 
aware.  Our  friends'  reputation  should  be  a  re- 
ligion to  us,  and  when  it  is  lightly  sacrificed  to 
what  self -adulation  calls  a  love  of  telling  the  truth 
(in  reality  a  lust  of  talking  something  seasoned 
58 


ANIMA  POET^ 

with  the  cayenne  and  capsicum  of  personality), 
depend  upon  it,  something  in  the  heart  is  warped 
or  warping,  more  or  less  according  to  the  greater 
or  lesser  power  of  the  counteracting  causes.  I 
confess  to  you,  that  being  exceedingly  low  and 
heart-fallen,  I  should  have  almost  sunk  under  the 
operation  of  reproof  and  admonition  (the  whole, 
too,  in  my  con^dction,  grounded  on  utter  mistake) 
at  the  moment  I  was  quitting,  perhaj)S  forever ! 
my  dear  country  and  all  that  makes  it  so  dear  — 
but  the  high  esteem  I  cherish  towards  you,  and 
my  sense  of  your  integrity  and  the  reality  of  your 
attachment  and  concern  blows  upon  me  refresh- 
ingly as  the  sea-breeze  on  the  tropic  islander. 
Show  me  any  one  made  better  by  blunt  advice, 
and  I  may  abate  of  my  dislike  to  it,  but  I  have 
exjjerienced  the  good  effects  of  the  contrary  in 
Wordsworth's  conduct  to  me  ;  and,  in  Poole  and 
others,  have  witnessed  enough  of  its  ill  effects  to 
be  convinced  that  it  does  little  else  but  harm 
both  to  the  adviser  and  the  advisee. 

[See  Letters  of  Samuel    Taylor   Coleridge, 
Letter  cli.,  ii.  474,  475.] 

This  is  Spain  !     That  is  Africa !     Now,  then,  places 
I  have  seen  Africa !  etc.,  etc.     O  !  the  power  of  persons 
names  to  give  interest.     When  I  first  sate  down,  Thiu-sday, 
with  Europe  on  my  left  and  Africa  on  my  right,  isw 
both  distinctly  visible,  I  felt  a  quickening  of  the 
movements   in  the  blood,  but  still   it  felt  as  a 
pleasure  of  amusement  rather  than  of  thought  or 
elevation  ;  and  at  the  same  time,  and  gradually 
winning  on  the  other,  the  nameless  silent  forms  of 
nature  were  working  in  me,  like  a  tender  thought 
in  a  man  who  is  hailed  merrily  by  some  acquain- 
59 


ANBIA  POETiE 

tance  in  his  work,  and  answers  it  in  the  same 
tone.  This  is  Africa  !  That  is  Europe  !  There 
is  division,  sharp  boundary,  abrupt  change !  and 
what  are  they  in  nature  ?  Two  mountain  banks 
that  make  a  noble  river  of  the  interfluent  sea, 
not  existing-  and  acting  with  distinctness  and 
manif  oldness  indeed,  but  at  once  and  as  one  —  no 
division,  no  change,  no  antithesis  !  Of  all  men 
I  ever  knew,  Wordsworth  himself  not  excepted, 
I  have  the  faintest  pleasure  in  things  contin- 
gent and  transitory.  I  never,  except  as  a  forced 
courtesy  of  conversation,  ask  in  a  stagecoach. 
Whose  house  is  that  ?  nor  receive  the  least  addi- 
tional pleasure  when  I  receive  the  answer.  Nay, 
it  goes  to  a  disease  in  me.  As  I  was  gazing  at 
a  wall  in  Caernarvon  Castle,  I  wished  the  guide 
fifty  miles  off  that  was  telling  me.  In  this  cham- 
ber the  Black  Prince  was  born  (or  whoever  it 
was).  I  am  not  certain  whether  I  should  have 
seen  with  any  emotion  the  mulberry-tree  of 
Shakspere.  If  it  were  a  tree  of  no  notice  in 
itself,  I  am  sure  that  I  should  feel  by  an  effort 
—  with  seK-reproach  at  the  dimness  of  the  feel- 
ing ;  if  a  striking  tree,  I  fear  that  the  pleasure 
would  be  diminished  rather  than  increased,  that 
I  should  have  no  unity  of  feeling,  and  find  in 
the  constant  association  of  Shakspere  having 
planted  it  an  intrusion  that  jsrevented  me  from 
wholly  (as  a  whole  man)  losing  myself  in  the 
flexures  of  its  branches  and  intertwining  of  its 
roots.  No  doubt  there  are  times  and  conceiv- 
able circumstances  in  which  the  contrary  would 
be  true  :  in  which  the  thought  that  under  this 
rock  by  the  seashore  I  know  that  Giordano 
Bruno  hid  himself  from  the  pursuit  of  the  en- 
60 


ANIMA  POET^ 

raged  priesthood,  and,  overcome  with  the  power 
and  sublimity  of  the  truths  for  which  they  sought 
his  life,  thought  his  life  therefore  given  him  that 
he  might  bear  witness  to  the  truths,  and,  morti 
ultro  occurrens,  returned  and  surrendered  him- 
self !  So,  here,  on  this  bank  Milton  used  to  lie,  in 
late  ]May,  when  a  young  man,  and  familiar  with 
all  its  primroses,  made  them  yet  dearer  than  their 
dear  selves,  by  that  sweetest  line  in  the  Lycidas, 
"  And  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies ;  "  or 
from  this  spot  the  immortal  deer-stealer,  on  his 
escape  from  Warwickshire,  had  the  first  view  of 
London,  and  asked  himself.  And  what  am  I  to 
do  there  ?  At  certain  times,  uncalled  and  sudden, 
subject  to  no  bidding  of  my  own  or  others,  these 
thoughts  would  come  upon  me  like  a  storm,  and 
fill  the  place  with  something  more  than  nature. 
But  these  are  not  contingent  or  transitory,  they 
are  nature,  even  as  the  elements  are  nature  — 
yea,  more  to  the  human  mind,  for  the  mind  has 
the  power  of  abstracting  all  agency  from  the 
former  and  considering  [them]  as  mere  effects 
and  instruments.  But  a  Shakspere,  a  Milton, 
a  Bruno,  exist  in  the  mind  as  pure  action,  defe- 
cated of  all  that  is  material  and  passive.  And 
the  great  moments  that  formed  them  —  it  is  a 
kind  of  imi^iety  against  a  voice  within  us,  not  to 
regard  them  as  predestined,  and  therefore  things 
of  now,  forever,  and  which  were  always.  But  it 
degrades  the  sacred  feeling,  and  is  to  it  what 
stupid  superstition  is  to  enthusiastic  religion, 
when  a  man  makes  a  pilgrimage  to  see  a  great 
man's  shin-bone  found  unmouldered  in  his  coffin. 
Perhaps  the  matter  stands  thus.  I  could  feel 
amused  by  these  things,  and  should  be,  if  there 
61 


ANIMA  POET^ 

had  not  been  connected  with  the  great  name 
upon  which  the  amusement  wholly  depends  a 
higher  and  deeper  pleasure,  that  will  [not]  endure 
the  copresence  of  so  mean  a  companion,  while 
the  mass  of  mankind,  whether  from  nature  or 
(as  I  fervently  hope)  from  error  of  rearing 
and  the  worldliuess  of  their  after-pursuits,  are 
rarely  susceptible  of  any  other  pleasures  than 
those  of  amusement,  gratification  of  curiosity,  nov- 
elty, surprise,  wonderment,  from  the  glaring,  the 
harshly-contrasted,  the  odd,  the  accidental,  and 
find  the  reading  of  the  Paradise  Lost  a  task 
somewhat  alleviated  by  a  few  entertaining  inci- 
dents, such  as  the  pandemonium  and  self-en- 
dwarfment  of  the  de\dls,  the  fool's  paradise,  and 
the  transformation  of  the  infernal  court  into 
serpents  and  of  their  intended  applauses  into 
hisses. 

["  Dear  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  myself  were 
exact,  but  harmonious  opjiosites  in  this  —  that 
every  old  ruin,  hill,  river,  or  tree  called  up  in 
his  mind  a  host  of  historical  or  biographical 
association ;  whereas,  for  myself,  I  believe  I 
should  walk  over  the  plain  of  Marathon  without 
taking  more  interest  in  it  than  in  any  other  plain 
of  similar  features."  —  Tahle  Talk,  August  4, 
1833,  BeU  &.  Co.,  1884,  p.  242.] 

Why  do  we  so  very,  very  often  see  men  pass 
from  one  extreme  to  the  other  ?  orroS/capSia  [Stod- 
coxvEKTs  tiart,  for  instance] .  Alas  !  they  sought  not  the 
truth,  but  praise,  self-importance,  and  above  all 
[the  sense  of]  something  doing  !  Disappointed, 
they  hate  and  persecute  their  former  opinion, 
which  no  man  will  do  who  by  meditation  had 
62 


TOLER- 


ANIMA  POETiE 

adopted  it,  and  In  the  course  of  unfeigned  medi- 
tation gradually  enlarged  the  circle  and  so  get 
out  of  it.  For  in  the  perception  of  its  falsehood 
he  will  form  a  perception  of  certain  truths  which 
had  made  the  falsehood  plausible,  and  can  never 
cease  to  venerate  his  own  sincerity  of  intention 
and  Philalethie.  For,  perhaps,  we  never  hate 
any  opinion,  or  can  do  so,  till  we  have  imjyer- 
sonated  it.  We  hate  the  persons  because  they 
oppose  us,  symbolize  that  opposition  under  the 
form  and  words  of  the  oj)inion,  and  then  hate  the 
person  for  the  opinion  and  the  opinion  for  the 
person. 

[For  some  weeks  after  his  arrival  at  Yaletta 
Coleridge  remained  as  the  guest  of  Dr.  John 
(afterwards  Sir  John)  Stoddart,  at  that  time 
H.  M.  Advocate  at  Malta.] 

Facts !  Never  be  weary  of  discussing  and  facts  and 
exposing  the  hoUowness  of  these.  [For,  in  the 
first  place,]  every  man  [is]  an  accomplice  on 
one  side  or  the  other,  [and,  secondly,  there  is] 
human  testimony.  "You  were  in  fault,  I  hear," 
said  B  to  C,  and  B  had  heard  it  from  A.  [Now] 
A  had  said,  "  And  C,  God  bless  her,  was  perhaps 
the  innocent  occasion !  "  But  what  a  trifle  this 
to  the  generality  of  blimders ! 

[I  have  no  pity  or  patience  for  that]  blind-  candor 

1.1  (.  ...  .  ANOTHEK 

ness  which  comes  from  puttnig  out  your  own  name  fok 
eyes  and  in  mock  humility  refusing  to  form  an  ^^^^ 
opinion  on  the  right  and  the  wrong  of  a  question. 
"  If  we  say  so  of  the  Sicilians,  why  may  not 
Buonaparte  say  this  of  the  Swiss?"  and  so  forth. 
As  if  England  and  France,  Swiss  and  Sicilian, 
63 


ANIMA  POET.E 

were  the  x  y  z  of  Algebra,  naked  names  of  un- 
known quantities.  [What  is  this  but]  to  fix 
morals  without  morality,  and  [to  allow]  general 
rules  to  supersede  all  particular  thought  ?  And 
though  it  be  never  acted  in  reality,  yet  the 
oj)inion  is  pernicious.  It  kills  public  spirit  and 
deadens  national  effort. 

A  SIMILE  The  little  point,  or,  sometimes,  minim  globe  of 
flame  remains  on  the  [newly]  lighted  taj^er  for 
three  minutes  or  more  unaltered.  But  see  !  it  is 
given  over,  and  then  at  once  the  flame  darts  or 
13lunges  down  into  the  wick,  then  up  again,  and 
all  is  bright  —  a  fair  cone  of  flame,  with  its 
black  column  in  it,  and  minor  cone,  shadow- 
colored,  resting  upon  the  blue  flame  the  common 
base  of  the  two  cones,  that  is,  of  the  whole  flame. 
A  pretty,  detailed  simile  in  the  manner  of  J. 
Taylor  might  be  made  of  this,  applying  it  to 
slow  learners,  to  opportunities  of  grace  mani- 
festly neglected  and  seemingly  lost  and  useless. 

o  STAR  Monday  evening,  July  9,   1804,  about  eight 

o'clock.  The  glorious  evening  star  coasted  the 
moon,  and  at  length  absolutely  crested  its  upper 
tip.  .  .  .  It  was  the  most  singular  and  at  the 
same  time  beautiful  sight  I  ever  beheld.  Oh, 
that  it  could  have  appeared  the  same  in  Eng- 
land, at  Grasmere ! 

NEFAs  EST      lu  tlic  Jacoblulsm  of  anti-Jacobins  note  the 

DocEiti      dreariest  feature  of  Jacobins,  a  contempt  for  the 

institutions  of  our  ancestors  and  of  past  wisdom, 

which  has  generated  Cobbetts  and  contempt  of 

the  liberty  of   the  press  and   of   liberty   itself. 

64 


ANIMA  POET^ 

Men  are  not  wholly  unmodified  by  the  opinion 
of  their  fellow-men,  even  when  they  happen  to 
be  enemies  or  (still  worse)  of  the  ojjposite  fac- 
tion. 

I  saw  in  early  youth,  as  in  a  dream,  the  birth  the  many 
of  the  planets  ;  and  my  eyes  beheld  as  one  what  one 
the  understanding'  afterwards  divided  into  (1) 
the  origin  of  the  masses,  (2)  the  origin  of  their 
motions,  and  (3)  the  site  or  position  of  their  cir- 
cles and  ellipses.  All  the  deviations,  too,  were 
seen  as  one  intuition  of  one,  the  seK-same  neces- 
sity, and  this  necessity  was  a  law  of  spirit,  and 
all  was  spirit.  And  in  matter  all  beheld  the 
past  activity  of  others  or  their  own  —  and  this 
reflection,  this  echo  is  matter  —  its  only  essence, 
if  essence  it  be.  And  of  this,  too,  I  saw  the 
necessity  and  understood  it,  but  I  understood 
not  how  infinite  multitude  and  manifoldness 
could  be  one ;  only  I  saw  and  understood  that  it 
was  yet  more  out  of  my  power  to  comprehend 
how  it  could  be  otherwise  —  and  in  this  unity 
I  worshipped  in  the  depth  of  knowledge  that 
passes  all  understanding  the  Being  of  all  things 
—  and  in  Being  their  sole  goodness  —  and  I  saw 
that  God  is  the  One,  the  Good  —  possesses  it 
not,  but  is  it. 

The  visibility  of  motion  at  a  great  distance  is  the  wind- 
increased  by  all  that  increases  the  distinct  visi-  irs 
bility   of   the   moving   object.      This   Saturday,  ^"'^°'^"' 
August  3,  1894,  in  the  room  immediately  under 
the  tower  in  St.  Antonio,  as  I  was  musinsr  on 
the  difference,  whether  ultimate  or  only  of  de- 
gree, between  auffassen  and  erhennen  (an  idea 
65 


ANIMA  POET^ 

received  and  an  idea  acquired)  I  saw  on  the  top  of 
the  distant  hills  a  shadow  on  the  sunny  ground 
moving  very  fast  and  wave-like,  yet  always 
in  the  same  place,  which  I  should  have  attrib- 
uted to  the  windmill  close  by,  but  the  windmill 
(which  I  saw  distinctly  too)  appeared  at  rest. 
On  steady  gazing,  however  (and  most  plainly 
with  my  spy-glass),  I  found  that  it  was  not  at 
rest,  but  that  this  was  its  shadow.  The  windmill 
itself  was  white  in  the  sunshine,  and  there  were 
sunny  white  clouds  at  its  back,  the  shadow  black 
on  the  white  ground. 

SYRACUSE  In  reflecting  on  the  cause  of  the  "  meeting 
uight\f^  soul "  in  music,  the  seeming  recognizance,  etc., 
September  ^^^•'  *^®  whole  explanation  of  memory  as  in  the 
27, 1804  nature  of  accord  struck  upon  me ;  accord  pro- 
duces a  phantom  of  memory,  because  memory  is 
always  in  accord. 

Oct.  5,  Philosophy  to  a  few,  religion  with  many,  is 

the  friend  of  poetry,  as  producing  the  two  condi- 
tions of  pleasure  arising  from  poetry,  namely, 
tranquillity  and  the  attachment  of  the  affections 
to  generalizations.  God,  soul,  Heaven,  the 
Gospel  miracles,  etc.,  are  a  sort  of  ^poetry  com- 
pared with  Lombard  Street  and  Change  Alley 
speculations. 

A  SERIOUS       In  company,  indeed,  with  all  except  a  very 

RANDUM     chosen  few,  never  dissent  from  any  one  as  to  the 

iat^day    '^cnis  of  another,  especially  in  your  own  sup- 

Oct.5,        posed   department,   but   content    yourself    with 

praising  in  your  turn  ;  the  really  good  praises  of 

the  unworthy  are  felt  by  a  good  man  and  man 

66 


ANIMA  POET^ 

of  genius  as  detractions  from  tlie  worthy,  and 
robberies  —  so  the  flashy  moderns  seem  to  rob 
the  ancients  of  the  honors  due  to  them,  and 
Bacon  and  Hari'ingtoii  are  not  read  because 
Hume  and  Condillac  are.  This  is  an  evil ;  but 
oppose  it,  if  at  all,  in  books  in  which  you  can 
evolve  the  whole  of  your  reasons  and  feeling, 
not  in  conversation  when  it  will  be  inevitably 
attributed  to  envy.  Besides,  they  who  praise  the 
unworthy  must  be  the  injudicious  ;  and  the  eu- 
logies of  critics  without  taste  or  judgment  are 
the  natural  pay  of  authors  without  feeling  or 
genius  —  and  why  rob  them?  Sint  unicuique 
sua  prcemia.  Coleridge !  Coleridge !  will  you 
never  learn  to  appropriate  your  conversation  to 
your  company !  Is  it  not  desecration,  indelicacy, 
and  a  proof  of  great  weakness  and  even  vanity 
to  talk  to,  etc.,  etc.,  as  if  you  [were  talking  to] 
Wordsworth  or  Sir  G.  Beaumont? 

O  young  man,  who  has  seen,  felt,  and  known  "  cast 
the  truth,  to  whom  reality  is  a  phantom,  and  peIkls^'* 
virtue  and  mind  the  sole  actual  and  permanent  i"=fore 

i  SWINE  " 

being,  do  not  degrade  the  truth  in  thee  by  dis- 
puting.    Avoid  it !  do  not  by  any  persuasion  be 
tempted    to   it !      Surely  not  by  vanity  or   the  Oct.  ii, 
weakness  of  the  pleasure  of  communicating  thy  l"^w|^' 
thoughts  and  awaking  sympathy,  but  not  even  by  midnight 
the  always  mixed  hope  of  producing  conviction. 
This  is  not  the  mode,  this  is  not  the  time,  not 
the  place.       [Truth  will  be   better  served]   by 
modestly   and  most  truly  saying,  "Your  argu- 
ments are  all  consequent,  if  the  foundation  be 
admitted.     I  do  not  admit  the  foundation.     But 
this  will  be  a  business  for  moments  of  thought, 
67 


ANIMA  POET^ 

for  a  Sabbatli-day  of  your  existence.  Then,  per- 
haps, a  voice  from  within  will  say  to  you  better, 
because  [in  a  manner]  more  adapted  to  you,  all 
I  can  say.  But  if  I  felt  this  to  he  that  day  or 
that  moment,  a  sacred  sympathy  would  at  once 
compel  and  inspire  me  to  the  task  of  uttering 
the  very  truth.  Till  then  I  am  right  willing  to 
bear  the  character  of  a  mystic,  a  visionary,  or 
self-important  juggler,  who  nods  his  head  and 
says,  '  I  could  if  I  would.'  But  I  cannot,  I  may 
not,  bear  the  reproach  of  profaning  the  truth 
which  is  my  life  in  moments  when  all  passions 
heterogeneous  to  it  are  eclipsing  it  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  its  dimmest  ray.  I  might  lose  my 
tranquillity,  and  in  acquiring  the  passion  of 
proselytism  lose  the  sejise  of  conviction.  I  might 
become  positive  !  Now  I  am  certaiti  !  I  might 
have  the  heat  and  fermentation,  now  I  have  the 
warmth  of  life." 

THE  Each  man  having  a  spark    (to   use  the   old 

metaphor)  of  the  Divinity,  yet  a  whole  fire-grate 
of  hmnanity,  —  each,  therefore,  will  legislate  for 
INFINITE    the  whole,  and  spite  of  the  De  gustibiis  non  est 
1804    '      disputandum,  even  in  trifles  ;   and,  till  corrected 
Syracuse'   ^J  experience,  at  least,  in  this  endless  struggle  of 
presumption,  really  occasioned  by  the  ever-work- 
ing spark  of  the  Universal,  in  the  disappoint- 
ments and  baffled  attempts  of  each,  all  are  dis- 
posed to  [admit]  \hejus  extriiisecwn  of  Sf)inoza, 
and  recognize  that  reason  as  the  highest  which 
may  not  be  understood  as  the  best,  but  of  which 
the  concrete  possession  is  felt  to  be  the  strongest. 
Then  come  society,  habit,  education,  misery,  in- 
trigue, oppression,  then  revolution,  and  the  circle 
68 


YEARNING 
OF  THE 
FINITE 
FOE  THE 


ANIMA  POETiE 

begins  anew.  Each  man  will  universalize  his 
notions,  and,  yet,  each  is  variously  finite.  To 
reconcile^  therefore,  is  truly  the  work  of  the  in- 
spired! This  is  the  true  Atonement  —  that  is,  to 
reconcile  the  struggles  of  the  infinitely  various 
finite  with  the  permanent. 

Do  not  be  too  much  discouraged  if  any  virtue  a  mea- 
should  be   mixed,  in  your    consciousness,   with  selk-^'' 
affectation   and    imperfect   sincerity,    and   some  ^^^^^o^ 
vanity.     Disapprove   of   this,  and  continue    the 
practice  of  the  good  feeling,  even  though  mixed, 
and  it  will  gradually  purify  itself.     Prohatum 
est.     Disapprove,  be  aahumed  of  the  thought,  of 
its  always  continuing  thus,  but  do  not  harshly 
quarrel  with  your  present  self,  for  all  virtue  sub- 
sists in  and  by   pleasure.      S.  T.  C.      Sunday 
evening,  October  14,  1804. 

But  a  great  deal  of  this  is  constitutional. 
That  constitution  which  predisposes  to  certain 
virtues,  the  Awpov  ^ewv,  has  this  re/xevos  Ne/xeo-ews 
in  it.  It  is  the  dregs  of  sympathy,  and  while 
we  are  v;eak  and  dependent  on  each  other,  and 
each  is  forced  to  think  often  for  himself,  sym- 
pathy will  have  its  dregs,  and  the  strongest,  who 
have  least  of  these,  have  the  dregs  of  other  vir- 
tues to  strain  off. 

All  the  objections  to  the  opera  are    equally  the 
applicable  to  tragedy  and  comedy  without  music,  ^^^^"^ 
and   all  proceed   on    the    false    jjrineiple    that 
theatrical  representations  are  coj^ies  of  nature, 
whereas  they  are  imitations. 

When  you  are  harassed,  disquieted,  and  have 
69 


ANIMA  POET^ 

A  SALVE  little  dreams  of  resentment,  and  mock  triumphs 
WOUNDED  in  consequence  of  the  clearest  j^erceptions  of 
VANITY  unliind  treatment  and  strange  misconceptions 
and  illogicalities,  palpably  from  bad  passion,  in 
any  person  connected  with  you,  suspect  a  sym- 
pathy in  yourself  with  some  of  these  bad  pas- 
sions —  vanity,  for  instance.  Though  a  sense  of 
wounded  justice  is  possible,  nay,  probably  forms 
a  part  of  your  uneasy  feelings,  yet  this  of  itself 
would  yield,  at  the  first  moment  of  reflection,  to 
pity  for  the  wretched  state  of  a  man  too  untran- 
quil  and  perpetually  selfish  to  love  anything  for 
itself  or  without  some  end  of  vanity  or  ambi- 
tion —  who  detests  all  poetry,  tosses  about  in 
the  impotence  of  desires  disproportionate  to  his 
powers,  and  whose  whole  history  of  his  whole 
life  is  a  tale  of  disappointment  in  circumstances 
where  the  hope  and  pretension  was  always  im- 
wise,  often  presumptuous  and  insolent.  Surely 
an  intuition  of  this  restless  and  no-end-having 
mood  of  mind  would  at  once  fill  a  hearer  having 
no  sympathy  with  these  passions  with  tender 
melancholy,  virtuously  mixed  with  grateful  un- 
pharisaic  self-complacency.  But  a  patient  al- 
most., but  not  quite,  recovered  from  madness, 
yet  on  its  confines,  finds  in  the  notions  of  mad- 
ness that  which  irritates  and  haunts  and  makes 
unhappy. 


OFFICIAL, 
DISTRUST 

Malta, 
Friday, 
Nov.  23, 
1804 


One  of  the  heart-depressing  habits  and  temp- 
tations of  men  in  power,  as  governors,  etc.,  is  to 
make  instruments  of  their  fellow-creatures,  and 
the  moment  they  find  a  man  of  honor  and  tal- 
ents, instead  of  loving  and  esteeming  him,  they 
wish  to  tise  him.  Hence  that  self-betraying  side- 
70 


ANIMA  POET^ 

ancl-down  look  of  cunning ;  and  they  justify  and 
inveterate  the  habit  by  believing  that  every  in- 
dividual who  approaches  has  selfish  designs  on 
them. 

Days  and  weeks  and  months  pass  on,  and  now  for  the 
a  year  —  and  the  sea,  the  sea,  and  the  breeze  i>- a u- 
have  their  influence  on  me,  and   [so,  too,  has  the  ^^^^^ 
association  with]  good  and  sensible  men.     I  feel 
a  pleasure  upon  me,  and  I  am,  to  the  outward 
view,  cheerful,  and  have  myself  no  distinct  con- 
sciousness of  the  contrary,  for  I  use  my  facul- 
ties, not,  indeed,  at  once,  but  freely.     But,  oh  ! 
I  am  never  happy,  never  deeply  gladdened.     I 
know  not  —  I  have  forgotten  —  what  the  jot/  is 
of  which  the  heart  is  full,  as  of  a  deep  and  quiet 
fountain  overflowing  insensibly,  or  the  gladness 
of  joy  when  the  fountain  overflows  ebullient. 

The  most  common  appearance  in  wintry  wea- 
ther is  that  of  the  sun  under  a  sharp,  defined 
level  line  of  a  stormy  cloud,  that  stretches  one 
third  or  one  half  round  the  circle  of  the  horizon, 
thrice  the  height  of  the  space  that  intervenes 
between  it  and  the  horizon,  which  last  is  about 
half  again  as  broad  as  the  sun.  [At  length] 
out  comes  the  sim,  a  mass  of  brassy  light,  him- 
self lost  and  diffused  in  his  [own]  strong  splen- 
dor. Compare  this  with  the  beautiful  summer 
set  of  colors  without  cloud. 

Even   in   the   most   tranquil   dreams,   one   is 

much  less  a  mere  spectator  [than  in  reveries  or 

day-dreams].     One    seems  always  about  to  do, 

[to  be]  suffering,  or  thinking,  or  talking.     I  do 

71 


ANIMA  POET^ 

not  recollect  [in  dreams]  that  state  of  feeling,  so 
common  wlien  awake,  of  thinking  on  one  subject 
and  looking  at  another ;  or  [of  looking]  at  a 
whole  prospect,  till  at  last,  perhaps,  or  by  inter- 
vals, at  least,  you  only  look  passively  at  the 
prospect. 

MCLTUM  At  Dresden  there  is  a  cherry-stone  engraved 
with  eighty-five  portraits.  Christ  and  the 
Twelve  Apostles  form  one  group,  the  table  and 
supper  all  drawn  by  the  letters  of  the  text  —  at 
once  portraits  and  language.  This  is  a  universal 
particular  language  —  Koman  Catholic  language 
with  a  vengeance. 

The  beautifully  white  sails  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean, so  carefully,  when  in  port,  put  up  into  clean 
bags;  and  the  interesting  circumstance  of  the 
Speronara's  sailing  without  a  compass  —  by  an 
obscure  sense  of  time. 

THROUGH  So  far  from  deeming  it,  in  a  religious  point 
FAITH  ^^  of  view,  criminal  to  spread  doubts  of  God,  im- 
mortality, and  virtue  (that  3=1)  in  the  minds 
of  individuals,  I  seem  to  see  in  it  a  duty  —  lest 
men  by  taking  the  ivords  for  granted  never  attain 
the  feeling  of  the  tvue  faith.  They  only  forbear, 
that  is,  even  to  suspect  that  the  idea  is  errone- 
ous or  the  communicators  deceivers,  but  do  not 
believe  the  idea  itself.  Whereas  to  doubt  has 
more  of  faith,  nay  even  to  disbelieve,  than  that 
blank  negation  of  all  such  thoughts  and  feelings 
which  is  the  lot  of  the  herd  of  church-and-meet- 
ing-trotters. 

72 


ANIMA  POETiE 

The   Holy    Ghost,   say   the   harmonists,    left  an  apoi,- 
all  the   solecisms,    Hebraisms,    and   low   Judaic  cottlk 
prejudices  as  evidences  of  the  credibility  of  the 
Apostles.     So,  too,  the  Theopneusty  left  Cottle 
his  Bristolisms,  not  to  take  away  the  credit  from 
him  and  give  it  to  the  Muses. 

His  fine  mind  met  vice  and  vicious   thoughts  for  the 
by  accident   only,  as    a   poet   running   through  j^  aL'"'" 
terminations  in  the  heat  of  composing  a  rhyme  ^^^^^  " 
poem  on  the  purest  and  best  subjects,   startles 
and  half  vexedly  turns  away  from  a  foul  or  im- 
pure word. 

The  gracious  promises  and  sweetnesses  and 
aids  of  religion  are  alarming  and  distressful  to  a 
trifling,  light,  fluttering  gay  child  of  fashion  and 
vanity,  as  its  threats  and  reproaches  and  warn- 
ings, —  as  a  little  bird  which  fears  as  much 
when  you  come  to  give  it  food  as  when  you  come 
with  a  desire  to  kill  or  imprison  it. 

That  is  a  striking  legend  of  Caracciolo  and 
his  floating  corse,  that  came  to  ask  the  King  of 
Naples'  pardon. 

Final  causes  answer  to  why  ?  not  to  how  ?  and 
whoever  supposed  that  they  did  ? 

O  those  crinlded,  ever-varying  circles  which 
the  moonlight  makes  in  the  not  calm,  yet  not 
wavy  sea  !  Quarantine,  Malta,  Saturday,  Nov. 
10, 1804. 

Hard  to  express  that  sense  of  the  analogy  or 
73 


ANIMA  POET^ 
THE  CREA-  likeness  of  a  things  which  enables  a   symbol   to 

TIVE  .  °  1.1  ri  1-  'IP 

POWER  OF  represent  it  so  that  we  think  of  the  thing  itself, 
yet  knowing  that  the  thing  is  not  present  to  us. 


AND 
IMAGES 


Surely  on  this  universal  fact  of  words  and  images 
depends,  by  more  or  less  mediations,  the  imita- 
tion, instead  of  the  cop]/  which  is  illustrated, 
in  very  nature  Shaksperianlzed  —  that  Proteus 
essence  that  could  assume  the  very  form,  but 
yet  known  and  felt  not  to  be  the  thing  by 
that  difference  of  the  substance  which  made  every 
atom  of  the  form  another  thing,  that  likeness  not 
identity  —  an  exact  web,  every  line  of  direction 
miraculously  the  same,  but  the  one  worsted,  the 
other  silk. 

SHAK-  Rival  editors  have  recourse  to  necromancy  to 

^^D^^  know  from  Shakspere  himself  who  of  them  is 
MALONE  |.|jg  fittest  to  edit  and  illustrate  him.  Describe 
the  meeting,  the  ceremonies  of  conjuration,  the 
appearance  of  the  spirit,  the  effect  on  the  rival 
invokers.  When  they  have  resumed  courage, 
the  arbiter  appointed  by  them  asks  the  question. 
They  listen,  —  Malone  leaps  up  while  the  rest 
lay  their  heads  at  the  same  instant  that  the 
arbiter  reechoes  the  words  of  the  spirit,  "  Let 
Malone  !  "  The  spirit  shudders,  then  exclaims 
in  the  dread  and  angry  utterance  of  the  dead, 
"  No !  no !  Let  me  alone,  I  said,  inexorable 
boobies !  " 

O  that  eternal  bricker-up  of  Sljakspere ! 
Registers,  memorandum-books  —  and  that  Bill, 
Jack,  and  Harry ;  Tom,  Walter,  and  Gregory ; 
Charles,  Dick,  and  Jim,  lived  at  that  house,  but 
that  nothing  more  is  known  of  them.  But,  oh  ! 
the  importance  when  half  a  dozen  players'-bills 
74 


ANIMA  POET.E 

can  be  made  to  stretch  through  half  a  hundred  or 
more  of  pages,  though  there  is  not  one  word  in 
them  that  by  any  force  can  be  made  either  to 
illustrate  the  times  or  life  or  writings  of  Shak- 
spere,  or,  indeed,  of  any  time.  And  yet,  no 
edition  but  this  gentleman's  name  hurs  upon  it 
—  hurglossa  with  a  vengeance.  Like  the  genitive 
plural  of  a  Greek  adjective,  it  is  Malone,  Malone, 

Malone,  MaXdv,  MaAwr,  MaAwv. 

[Edmund     Malone's     Variorum    edition     of 
Shakspere  was  published  in  1790.] 

It  is  a  remark  that  I  have  made  many  times,  of  the 
and  many  times,  I  guess,  shall  repeat,  that  women  kess  of 
are  infinitely  fonder  of  clinging  to  and  beating  j)°'^g^u  ^ 
about,  hanging  upon  and  keeping  up,  and  reluc-  n.  I'^'O* 
tantly  letting  fall  any  doleful  or  painful  or  un- 
pleasant subject,  than  men  of   the    same    class 
and  rank. 

A  young  man  newly  arrived  in  the  West  ne  qvvd 
Indies,  who  happened  to  be  sitting  next  to  a 
certain  Captain  Reignia,  observed  by  way  of 
introducing  a  conversation,  "It  is,  a  very  fine 
day,  sir ! "  "  Yes,  sir,"  was  the  abrupt  rejjly, 
"  and  be  damned  to  it ;  it  is  never  otherwise  in 
this  damned  rascally  climate." 

I  addressed  a  butterfly  on  a  pea-blossom  thus  :  we  ask 
"  Beautiful  Psyche,  soul  of  a  blossom,  that  art  Whence, 
visiting   and    hovering   o'er  thy  foi'mer  friends  ^^.^  ^^'"^^^ 
whom  thou  hast  left !  "     Had  I  forgot  the  cater-  whither 
pillar?  or  did  I  dream  like  a  mad  metaphysician 
that  the  caterpillar's  hunger  for  jjlants  was  self- 
75 


ANIMA  POETiE 

love,  recollection,  and  a  lust  that  in  its  next  state 
refined  itself  into  love  ?     Dec.  12,  1804. 


COROL- 
LARY 


Different  means  to  the  same  end  seem  to  con- 
stitute analogy.  Seeing  and  touching  are  anal- 
ogous senses  with  respect  to  magnitude,  figure, 
etc. ;  they  would,  and  to  a  certain  extent  do, 
supply  each  other's  place.  The  air-vessels  of 
fish  and  of  insects  are  analogous  to  lungs  —  the 
end  the  same,  however  different  the  means.  No 
one  would  say,^  "  Lungs  are  analogous  to  lungs," 
and  it  seems  to  me  either  inaccurate  or  involving 
some  true  conception  obscurely,  when  we  speak 
of  planets  by  analogy  of  ours  —  for  here,  know- 
ing nothing  but  likeness,  we  presume  the  differ- 
ence from  the  remoteness  and  difficulty,  in  the 
vulgar  apprehension,  of  considering  those  pin- 
points as  worlds.  So,  likewise,  instead  of  the 
phrase  "  analogy  of  the  past,"  applied  to  histori- 
cal reasoning,  nine  times  out  of  ten  I  should  say, 
"  by  the  example  of  the  past."  This  may  appear 
verbal  trifling,  but  "  animadverte  quam  sit  ah 
improprietate  verhorum  pronum  hominibus  pro- 
hib'i  in  errores  circa  resy  In  short,  analogy 
always  implies  a  difference  in  kind  and  not 
merely  in  degree.  There  is  an  analogy  between 
dimness  and  numbness,  and  a  certain  state  of  the 
sense  of  hearing  correspondent  to  these,  which 
produces  confusion  with  magniJicatio7i,  for  which 
we  have  no  name.  But  between  light  green  and 
dark  green,  between  a  mole  and  a  lynceus,  there 
is  a  gradation,  no  analogy. 

Between  beasts  and  men,  when  the  same 
actions  are  performed  by  both,  are  the  means 
analogous  or  different  only  in  degree  ?  That  is 
76 


ANIMA  POETJE 

the  question !  The  sameness  of  the  end  and 
the  equal  fitness  of  the  means  prove  no  identity 
of  means.  I  can  only  read,  but  understand  no 
arithmetic.  Yet,  by  Napier's  tables  or  the 
Housekeepers'  Almanack.,  I  may  even  arrive  at 
the  conclusion  quicker  than  a  tolerably  expert 
mathematician.  Yet,  still,  reading  and  reckon- 
ing are  utterly  different  things. 

In  Reimarus  on  The  Instincts  of  Animals,  thomas 
Tom  Wedgwood's  gromid-principle  of  the  influx  wood  and 
of  memory  on  perception  is  fully  and  beautifully 
detailed. 

["  Observations  Moral  and  Philosophical  on 
the  Instinct  of  Animals,  their  Industry  and  their 
Manners,"  by  Herman  Samuel  Keimarus,  was 
published  in  1770.  See  Biograplda  Literaria, 
chaj^ter  vi.,  and  note,  by  Mrs.  H.  N.  Coleridge, 
in  the  Appendix,  Coleridge's  Works,  Harper  & 
Brothers,  iii.  225,  717.] 


KKIMARUS 


It  is  often  said  that  books  are  companions,  "in'c  illa 
They  are  so,  dear,  very  dear  companions.  But  nIlia 
I  often,  when  I  read  a  book  that  delights  me  on 
the  whole,  feel  a  pang  that  the  author  is  not 
present,  that  I  cannot  object  to  him  this  and  that, 
express  my  sympathy  and  gratitude  for  this  jiart, 
and  mention  some  facts  that  self-evidently  overset 
a  second,  start  a  doubt  about  a  third,  or  confirm 
and  carry  [on]  a  fourth  thought.  At  times  I 
become  restless,  for  my  nature  is  very  social. 


"Well"    (says    Lady    Ball),    "the   Catholic  oorrit- 

Ti<)  <*i'Ti  ^' 

religion    is    better    than    none."     Why,   to   be  i-kssima 
sure,  it  is  called  a  religion,  but  the  question  is, 

77 


ANIMA  POET.E 

Is  it  a  religion  ?  Sugar  of  lead  !  —  better  than 
no  sugar !  Put  oil  of  vitriol  into  my  salad  — 
well,  better  than  no  oil  at  all !  Or  a  fellow  vends 
a  poison  under  the  name  of  James'  powders  — 
well,  we  must  get  the  best  we  can  —  better  that 
than  none !  So  did  not  our  noble  ancestors 
reason  or  feel,  or  we  should  now  be  slaves  and 
even  as  the  Sicilians  are  at  this  day,  or  worse, 
for  even  they  liave  been  made  less  foolish,  in 
spite  of  themselves,  by  others'  wisdom. 

KEiMARus       I   have   read  with  wonder   and   delight   that 
"in.  passage  of  Reimarus  in  which  he  speaks  of  the 

of'anI-  immense  multitude  of  plants,  and  the  curious, 
MALs"  regular  choice  of  different  hei"bivorous  animals 
with  respect  to  them,  and  the  following  pages 
in  which  he  treats  of  the  pairing  of  insects  and 
the  equally  wonderful  processes  of  egg-laying 
and  so  forth.  All  in  motion !  the  sea-fish  to  the 
shores  and  rivers  —  the  land  crab  to  the  sea- 
shore! I  would  fain  describe  all  the  creation 
thus  agitated  by  the  one  or  other  of  the  three 
instincts,  —  self-preservation,  childing,  and  child- 
preservation.  Set  this  by  Darwin's  theory  of  the 
maternal  instinct  —  O  mercy !  the  blindness  of 
the  man  !  and  it  is  imagination,  forsooth !  that 
misled  him  —  too  much  poetry  in  his  philoso- 
phy !  this  abject  deadness  of  all  that  sense  of 
the  obscure  and  indefinite,  this  superstitious 
fetich-worship  of  lazy  or  fascinated  fancy!  O 
this,  indeed,  deserves  to  be  dwelt  on. 

Think  of  all  this  as  an  absolute  revelation,  a 
real  presence  of  Deity,  and  compare  it  with  his- 
torical traditionary  religion.    There  are  two  reve- 

78 


ANIMA   POET^ 

lations,  —  the  material  and  the  moral,  —  and  the 
former  is  not  to  be  seen  but  by  the  latter.  As 
St.  Paul  has  so  well  observed :  "  By  worldly  wis- 
dom no  man  ever  arrived  at  God  ;  "  but  having 
seen  Him  by  the  moral  sense,  then  we  under- 
stand the  outward  world.  Even  as  with  books, 
no  book  of  itself  teaches  a  language  in  the  first 
instance  ;  but  having  by  sympathy  of  soid  learnt 
it,  we  then  understand  the  book  —  that  is,  the 
Deus  minor  in  His  work. 

The  hirschhafer  (stag-beetle)  in  its  worm 
state  makes  its  bed-chamber,  prior  to  its  meta- 
morphosis, half  as  long  as  itself.  Why  ?  There 
was  a  stiff  horn  turned  imder  its  belly,  which  in 
the  fly  state  must  project  and  harden,  and  this 
required  exactly  that  length. 

The  sea-snail  creeps  out  of  its  house,  which, 
thus  hollowed,  lifts  him  aloft,  and  is  his  boat 
and  cork  jacket ;  the  Nautilus,  additionally, 
spreads  a  thin  skin  as  a  saiL 

All  creatures  obey  the  great  game-laws  of 
Nature,  and  fish  with  nets  of  such  meshes  as  per- 
mit many  to  escape,  and  preclude  the  taking  of 
many.  So  two  races  are  saved,  the  one  by  tak- 
ing part,  and  the  other  by  part  not  being  taken. 

Wonderful,  perplexing  divisibility  of  life !     It  entomo- 
is  related  by  D.  Unzer,  an  authority  wholly  to  be  veksus 
relied  on,  that  an  ohricurm  (earwig)  cut  in  half  <^^t«logt 
ate  its  own  hinder  part !     Will  it  be  the  reverse 
with  Great  Britain  and  America  ?     The  head  of 
the  rattlesnake  severed  from  the  body  bit  it  and 
79 


ANIMA   POETiE 

squirted  out  its  poison,  as  its  related  by  Beverly 
in  liis  History  of  Virginia.  Lyonnet,  in  his  In- 
sect. Tlieol.,  tells  us  that  he  tore  a  wasp  in  half, 
and  three  days  after  the  fore  half  bit  whatever 
was  presented  to  it  of  its  former  food,  and  the 
hind  half  darted  out  its  sting  at  being  touched. 
Stranger  still,  a  turtle  has  been  known  to  live 
six  months  with  his  head  off,  and  to  wander 
about,  yea,  six  hours  after  its  heart  and  intestines 
(all  but  the  lungs)  were  taken  out  !  How  shall 
we  think  of  this  compatibility  with  the  monad 
soul?  If  I  say.  What  has  spirit  to  do  with 
space  ?  what  odd  dreams  it  would  suggest !  —  or 
is  every  animal  a  republic  in  se  f  or  is  there  one 
Breeze  of  Life,  "  at  once  the  soid  of  each,  and 
God  of  all "  ?  Is  it  not  strictly  analogous  to 
generation,  and  no  more  contrary  to  unity  than 
it  ?  But  IT  ?  Ay !  there  's  the  twist  in  the 
logic.  Is  not  the  reproduction  of  the  lizard  a 
complete  generation  ?  O,  it  is  easy  to  dream  — 
and,  surely,  better  —  of  these  things  than  of  a 
X20,000  prize  in  the  lottery,  or  of  a  place  at 
Court.     Dec.  13,  1804. 


FOR  THE  To  trace  the  if  not  absolute  birth,  yet  the 
IN  AB^"^^  growth  and  endurancy,  of  language  from  the 
sENCE "     mother  talking  to  the  child  at  her  breast  —  O 

what  a  subject  for  some  hapj)y  moment  of  deep 

feeling  and  strong  imagination ! 

Of  the  Quintetta  in  the  Syracuse  opera  and 
the  pleasure  of  the  voices,  —  one  and  not  one ; 
they  leave,  seek,  pursue,  oppose,  fight  with, 
strengthen,  annihilate  each  other ;  awake,  en- 
liven, soothe,  flatter,  and  embrace  each  other 
80 


ANIMA  POET^ 

again,  till  at  length  they  die  away  in  one  tone. 
There  is  no  sweeter  image  of  wayward  yet  fond 
lovers,  of  seeking  and  finding,  of  the  love-quar- 
rel and  the  making-up,  of  the  losing  and  the 
yearning  regret,  of  the  doubtful,  the  complete 
recognition,  and  of  the  total  melting  union. 
Words  are  not  interpreters,  but  fellow-combat- 
ants. 

Title  for  a  Medical  Romance  :  — 

The  adventures,  rivalry,  warfare,  and  final 
union  and  partnership  of  Dr.  Hocus  and  Dr. 
Pocus. 

Idly  talk  they  who  speak  of  poets  as  mere 
indulgers  of  fancy,  imagination,  superstition, 
etc.  They  are  the  bridlers  by  delight,  the  purifi- 
ers ;  they  that  combine  all  these  with  reason  and 
order  —  the  true  j)rotoplasts  —  Gods  of  Love 
who  tame  the  chaos. 

To  deduce  instincts  from  obscure  recollections 
of  a  preexisting  state  —  I  have  often  thought  of 
it.  "  Ey  !  "  I  have  said,  when  I  have  seen  cer- 
tain tempers  and  actions  in  Hartley,  "  that  is  I 
in  my  future  state."  So  I  think,  oftentimes, 
that  my  children  are  my  soul ;  that  multitude 
and  division  are  not  [O  mystery  I]  necessarily 
subversive  of  unity.  I  am  sure  that  two  very 
different  meanings,  if  not  more,  lurk  in  the  word 
One. 

The  drollest  explanation  of  Instinct  Is  that 
of  Myllus,  who  attributes  every  act  to  pain,  and 
all  the  wonderful  webs  and  envelopes  of  spiders, 

81 


ANIMA  POET^ 

caterpillars,  etc.,  absolutely  to  fits  of   colic  or 
paroxysms  of  dry  belly-aclie  ! 

This  tarantula-dance  of  repetitions  and  verti- 
ginous argumentation  iyi  circulo,  begun  in  im- 
posture and  self -consummated  in  madness ! 

While  the  whole  planet  (jqiioad  its  Lord  or,  at 
least,  Lord-Lieutenancy)  is  in  stir  and  bustle, 
why  should  not  I  keep  in  time  with  the  tune, 
and,  like  old  Diogenes,  roll  my  tub  about  ? 

I  cannot  too  often  remember  that  to  be  deeply 
interested  and  to  be  highly  satisfied  are  not 
always  commensurate.  Ajjply  this  to  the  affect- 
ing and  yet  unnatural  passages  of  the  Stranger 
or  of  John  Bull,  and  to  the  finest  passages  in 
Shakspere,  such  as  the  death  of  Cleopatra  or 
Hamlet. 

A  SUN-DOG  Saw  the  limb  of  a  rainbow,  footing  itself  on 
18^'  '  the  sea  at  a  small  apparent  distance  from  the 
shore,  a  thing  of  itself  —  no  substrate  cloud  or 
even  mist  visible  —  but  the  distance  glimmered 
through  it  as  through  a  thin  semi-transparent 
hoop. 


SQUARE, 
THE  CIR- 
CLE, THE 
PYRAMID 


THE  To  be  and  to  act,  two  in  intellect  (that  mother 

of  orderly  multitude,  and  half  sister  of  Wisdom 
and  Madness),  but  one  in  essence  :=  to  rest,  and 
to  move  =  D  and  a  O  •  and  out  of  the  infinite 
combinations  of  these,  from  the  more  and  the 
less,  now  of  one,  now  of  the  other,  all  pleasing 
figures,  and  the  sources  of  all  pleasure  arise. 
But  the  pyramid,  that  base  of  steadfastness  that 
82 


ANIMA  POETiE 

rises,  yet  never  deserts  itself  nor  can,  approaches 
to  the  O-  Sunday.  Midnight.  Malta.  De- 
cember 16,  1804. 

I  can  make  out  no  other  affinity  [in  the  pyra-  the 
mid]  to  the  circle  but  by  taking  its  evanescence 
as  the  central  point,  and  so,  having  thus  gained 
a  melting  of  the  radii  in  the  circumference  [by 
proceeding  to],  looh  it  into  the  object.  Extrava- 
gance !  Why  ?  Does  not  every  one  do  this  in 
looking  at  any  conspicuous  three  stars  together? 
does  not  every  one  see  by  the  inner  vision  a  tri- 
angle ?  However,  this  is  in  art ;  but  the  protot}"pe 
in  nature  is,  indeed,  loveliness.  In  Nature  there 
are  no  straight  lines,  or  [such  straight  lines  as 
there  are]  have  the  soul  of  curves,  from  activity 
and  positive  raj^id  energy.  Or,  whether  the  line 
seem  curve  or  straight,  yet  Acre,  in  nature,  is 
motion,  —  motion  in  its  most  significant  form. 
It  is  motion  in  that  form  which  has  been  chosen 
to  express  motion  in  general,  hierogljqjhical  from 
preeminence  [and  by  this  very  preeminence,  in 
the  particular  instance,  made  significant  of  mo- 
tion in  its  totality].  Hence,  though  it  chance 
that  a  line  in  nature  should  be  perfectly  straight, 
there  is  no  need  here  of  any  curve  whose  effect 
is  that  of  embleming  motion  and  counteracting 
actual  solidity  by  that  emblem.  For  here  the 
line  [in  contradistinction  to  the  line  in  art]  is 
actual  motion,  and  therefore  a  balancing  FUjiirite 
of  rest  and  solidity.  But  I  will  study  the  wood- 
fire  this  evening  in  the  Palace. 

I   see   now   that   the    eye   refuses   to    decide 
whether   it   be    surface    or    convexity,   for    the 
83 


PYRAMID 

IN  Aur 


ANIMA   POET^ 

Wednes-     exquisite   oneness  of  the  flame  makes  even  its 

n  o'clock,  angles  so  different  from  the  angles  of  tangible 

Dec.  19      substances.     Its  exceeding  oneness  added  to  its 

very   subsistence    in    motion    is    the    very   soul 

of    the   loveliest    curve  —  it   does   not  need  its 

body,  as  it  were.     Its  sharpest  point  is,  however, 

rounded,  and,  besides,  it  is  cased  within  its  own 

.     penumbra. 


FOR  THE  How  beautiful  a  circumstance,  the  improve- 
iN  AB-  ment  of  the  flower,  from  the  root  up  to  that 
Fridsf  "  crown  of  its  life  and  labors,  that  bridal  chamber 
morning,  of  its  beauty  and  its  twofold  love,  the  nuptial 
8  o'clock  and  the  parental  —  the  womb,  the  cradle,  and 
the  nursery  of  the  garden ! 

Qulsque  sui  faher  —  a  pretty  simile  this 
would  make  to  a  young  lady  producing  beauty 
by  moral  feeling. 

Nature  may  be  personified  as  the  Tvo\vii.y]^avo<i 
epyavr],  an  evcr  industrious  Penelope,  forever  im- 
ravelling  what  she  has  woven,  forever  weaving 
what  she  has  unravelled. 


TERRA- 
NEAN 


THE  MEDi-  Oh,  said  I,  as  I  looked  at  the  blue,  yellow- 
green,  and  purple-green  sea,  with  all  its  hollows 
and  swells,  and  cut-glass  surfaces,  —  oh,  what  an 
ocean  of  lovely  forms  I  And  I  was  vexed,  teased, 
that  the  sentence  sounded  like  a  play  of  words ! 
That  it  was  not  —  the  mind  within  me  was  strug- 
gling to  express  the  marvellous  distinctness  and 
unconfounded  personality  of  each  of  the  million 
millions  of  forms,  and  yet  the  individual  unity  in 
which  they  subsisted. 

84 


y 


ANIMA  POET.E 

A  brisk  gale  and  the  foam  that  peopled  the 
alive  sea,  most  interestingly  combined  with  the 
number  of  white  sea-gulls,  that  repeatedly  it 
seemed  as  if  the  foam-spit  had  taken  life  and 
wing,  and  had  flown  up  —  the  white  i^recisely- 
sarae-color  birds  rose  up  so  close  by  the  ever- 
perishing  white-water  wave-head,  that  the  eye 
was  unable  to  detect  the  illusion  which  the  mind 
delighted  to  indulge  in.  O  that  sky,  that  soft, 
blue,  mighty  arch  resting  on  the  mountain  or 
solid  sea-like  plain  —  what  an  awful  omneity  in 
unity.  I  know^  no  other  perfect  union  of  the 
sublime  with  the  beautiful,  so  that  they  should 
be  felt,  that  is,  at  the  same  minute,  though  by 
different  faculties,  and  yet  each  faculty  be  j^re- 
disposed,  by  itself,  to  receive  the  specific  modi- 
fications from  the  other.  To  the  e^^e  it  is  an 
inverted  goblet,  the  inside  of  a  sapphire  basin, 
perfect  beauty  in  shape  and  color.  To  the  mind, 
it  is  immensity ;  but  even  the  eye  feels  as  if  it 
were  [able]  to  look  through  with  [a]  dim  sense 
of  the  nonresistance  —  it  is  not  exactly  the 
feeling  given  to  the  organ  by  solid  and  limited 
things,  [but]  the  eye  feels  that  the  limitation 
is  in  its  own  power,  not  in  the  object.  But 
[hereafter]  to  pursue  this  in  the  manner  of  the 
old  Hamburgh  poet  [Klopstock]. 

One  travels  along  with  the  lines  of  a  raoun- 1  will 
tain.     Years  ago  I  wanted  to  make  Wordsworth 
sensible    of   this.     How   fine    is    Keswick  vale  !  "^^  ■^'"'' 

.  ,  HILLS 

Would  1  repose,  my  soid  lies  and  is  quiet  upon 
the  broad  level  vale.  Would  it  act  ?  it  darts  up 
into  tlie  mountain-top  like  a  kite,  and  like  a 
chamois-goat  runs  along   the  ridge  —  or  like  a 

85 


LIFT  UP 
MINE  EYES 


ANIMA  POETyE 

boy  that  makes  a  sport  on  the  road  of  running 
along  a  wall  or  narrow  fence  ! 

FORM  AND  One  of  the  most  noticeable  and  fruitful  facts* 
in  psychology  is  the  modification  of  the  same 
feeling  by  difference  of  form.  The  Heaven  lifts 
up  my  soul,  the  sight  of  the  ocean  seems  to 
widen  it.  We  feel  the  same  force  at  work,  but 
the  difference,  whether  in  mind  or  body,  that  we 
should  feel  in  actual  travelling  horizontally  or  in 
direct  ascent,  that  we  feel  in  fancy.  For  what 
are  our  feelings  of  this  kind  but  a  motion 
imagined,  [together]  with  the  feelings  that 
would  accompany  that  motion,  [but]  less  distin- 
guished, more  blended,  more  rapid,  more  con- 
fused, and,  thereby,  coadunated  ?  Just  as  white 
is  the  very  emblem  of  one  in  being  the  confusion 
of  all. 


VERBUM         Mem.  —  Not    to   hastily    abandon   and    kick 

BUS  away  the  means  after  the  end  is,  or  seems  to  be, 

accomplished.      So  have  I,  in  blowing   out  the 

paper  or  match  with  which  I  have  lit  a  candle, 

blown  out  the  candle  at  the  same  instant. 

THE  CON- 1       How  opposite  to  nature  and  the  fact  to  talk 

TINUITY 

OF  SENSA-  of  the  "  one  moment  "  of  Hume,  of  our  whole  be- 
ing an  aggregate  of  successive  single  sensations  I 
"Who  ever  felt  a  single  sensation  ?  Is  not  eveiy 
one  at  the  same  moment  conscious  that  there 
coexists  a  thousand  others,  a  darker  shade,  or 
less  light,  even  as  when  I  fix  my  attention  on  a 
white  house,  or  a  gray,  bare  hill,  or  rather  long 
ridge  that  runs  out  of  sight  each  way  (how  often 
I  want  the  German  uniihersefhar  .^)  [untranslat- 
86. 


TIOXS 


Ji 


ANIMA  POETiE 

able]  —  the  pretended  sight-sensation,  is  it  any- 
thing more  than  the  light-point  in  every  picture 
either  of  nature  or  of  a  good  painter  ?  and,  again, 
subordinately,  in  every  component  part  of  the 
picture  ?  And  what  is  a  moment  ?  Succession 
with  interspace  ?  Absurdity  !  It  is  evidently 
only  the  licht-punct  in  the  indivisible  imdivided  | 
duration. 

See  yonder  rainbow  strangely  preserving  its 
form  on  broken  clouds,  with  here  a  bit  out,  here 
a  bit  in,  yet  still  a  rambow  —  even  as  you  might 
place  bits  of  colored  ribbon  at  distances,  so  as  to 
preserve  the  form  of  a  bow  to  the  mmd.  Dec. 
25,  1804. 

There  are  two  sorts  of  talkative  fellows  whom  his  cox- 
it  would  be  injurious  to  confound,  and  I,  S.  T.  tion,  a 
Coleridge,  am   the  latter.     The  first  sort   is  of  of'VdeJs, 
those  who  use   five   hundred  words   more   than  ^'"^^'^  "^ 

WORDS 

needs  to  express  an  idea  —  that  is  not  my  case. 
Few  men,  I  will  be  bold  to  say,  put  more  mean- 
ing into  their  words  than  I,  or  choose  them  more 
deliberately  and  discriminately.  The  second  sort 
is  of  those  who  use  five  hundred  more  ideas, 
images,  reasons,  etc.,  than  there  is  any  need  of 
to  arrive  at  their  object,  till  the  only  object  ar- 
rived at  is  that  the  mind's  eye  of  the  bystander  is 
dazzled  with  colors  succeeding  so  rapidly  as  to 
leave  one  vague  impression  that  there  has  been  a 
great  blaze  of  colors  all  about  something.  Now 
this  is  my  case,  and  a  grievous  fault  it  is.  My 
illustrations  swallow  up  my  thesis.  I  feel  too  in- 
tensely the  omnipresence  of  all  in  each,  platon- 
ically  speaking ;  or,  psychologically,  my  brain- 
87 


ANIMA  POET^ 

fibres,  or  the  spiritual  light  which  abides  in  the 
brain-marrow,  as  visible  light  appears  to  do  in 
sundry  rotten  mackerel  and  other  smasJiy  mat- 
ters, is  of  too  general  an  affinity  with  all  things, 
and  though  it  perceives  the  difference  of  things, 
yet  is  eternally  pursuing  the  likenesses,  or, 
rather,  that  which  is  common  [between  them]. 
Bring  me  two  things  that  seem  the  very  same, 
and  then  I  am  quick  enough  [not  only]  to  show 
the  difference,  even  to  hair-splitting,  but  to  go  on 
from  cii'cle  to  circle  till  I  break  against  the  shore 
of  my  hearers'  patience,  or  have  my  concentricals 
dashed  to  nothing  by  a  snore.  That  is  my  ordi- 
nary mishap.  At  Malta,  however,  no  one  can 
charge  me  with  one  or  the  other.  I  have  earned 
the  general  character  of  bemg  a  quiet  well-mean- 
ing man,  rather  dull  indeed  !  and  who  would 
have  thought  that  he  had  been  a  jjoetf  "  O, 
a  very  wretched  poetaster,  ma'am  !  As  to  the 
reviews,  'tis  well  known  he  half  ruined  himself 
in  paying  cleverer  fellows  than  himself  to  write 
them,"  etc. 

THE  EM-  How  far  might  one  imagine  all  the  theory  of 
association  out  of  a  system  of  growth,  by  apply- 
ingf  to  the  brain  and  soul  what  we  know  of  an 
embryo  ?  One  tiny  particle  combines  with  an- 
other its  like,  and,  so,  lengthens  and  thickens, 
and  this  is,  at  once,  memory  and  increasing  vivid- 
ness of  impression.  One  might  make  a  very 
amusing  allegory  of  an  embryo  soul  up  to  birth ! 
Try  !  it  is  promising !  You  have  not  above  three 
hundred  volmnes  to  write  before  you  come  to  it, 
and  as  you  write,  perhaps,  a  volume  once  in  ten 
years,  you  have  ample  time. 


BRYONIC 
SOUL 


ANIMA  POET^ 

My  clear  fellow !  never  be  ashamed  of  schem- 
ing—  you  can't  think  of  living  less  than  4000 
years,  and  that  would  nearly  suffice  for  your 
present  schemes.  To  be  sure,  if  they  go  on  in 
the  same  ratio  to  the  performance,  then  a  small 
difficulty  arises  ;  but  never  mind  I  look  at  the 
bright  side  always  and  die  in  a  dream  !     Oh  I 

The  evil  effect  of  a  new  hypothesis  or  even  of  of  a  new 
a  new  nomenclature  is,  that  many  minds  which  sis 
had  familiarized  themselves  to  the  old  one,  and 
were  riding  on  the  I'oad  of  discovery  accustomed 
to  their  horse,  if  put  on  a  new  animal,  lose  time 
in  learning  how  to  sit  him ;  while  the  others, 
looking  too  steadfastly  at  a  few  facts  which  the 
jeweller  Hypothesis  had  set  in  a  perfectly  beau- 
tiful whole,  forget  to  dig  for  more,  though  in- 
habitants of  a  Golconda.  However,  it  has  its 
advantages  too,  and  these  have  been  ably  pointed 
out.  It  excites  contradiction,  and  is  thence  a 
stimulus  to  new  experiments  to  siqjport,  and 
to  a  more  severe  repetition  of  these  experiments 
and  of  other  new  ones  to  confute,  [arguments 
pro  and  con].  And,  besides,  one  must  alloy 
severe  truth  with  a  little  fancy,  in  order  to  mint 
it  into  common  €oin. 

In  the  preface  of  my  metaphysical  works,   I  his  in- 
should  say,  "  Once  for  all,  read  Kant,  Fichte,  ^^' 
etc.,  and  then  you  will  trace,  or,  if  you  are  on  ^'^'-^^ 
the  hunt,  track  me."     Why,  then,  not  acknow-  ^hy 
ledge  your  obligations  step  by  step  ?    Because  I 
could  not  do  so  in  a  multitude  of  glaring  resem- 
blances without  a  lie,  for  they  had  been  mine, 
formed  and  f idl-formed,  before  I  had  ever  heard 
89 


SS  TO 
MAN 
LOSO- 


ANIMA  POET^ 

of  these  writers ;  because  to  liave  fixed  on  the 
particular  instances  in  which  I  have  really  been 
indebted  to  these  writers  would  have  been  hard, 
if  possible,  to  me  who  read  for  truth  and  self- 
satisfaction,  and  not  to  make  a  book,  and  who 
always  rejoiced  and  was  jubilant  when  I  found  my 
own  ideas  well  expressed  by  others ;  and,  lastly, 
let  me  say,  because  (I  am  proud,  perhaps,  but} 
I  seem  to  know  that  much  of  the  matter  remains 
my  own,  and  that  the  soul  is  mine.  I  fear  not 
him  for  a  critic  who  can  confound  a  fellow- 
thinker  with  a  compiler. 

THE  META-  Good  hcavcus  !  that  there  shoidd  be  anything 
AT^AY  "^^  at  all,  and  not  nothing.  Ask  the  blunted  faculty 
that  pretends  to  reason,  and,  if  indeed  he  have 
felt  and  reasoned,  he  must  feel  that  something 
is  to  be  sought  after  out  of  the  vulgar  track  of 
Change- Alley  speculation. 

If  my  researches  are  shadowy,  what,  in  the 
name  of  reason,  are  you  ?  or  do  you  resign  all 
pretence  to  reason,  and  consider  yourself  —  nay, 
even  that  in  a  contradiction — as  a  passive  O 
among  Nothings  ? 

MEANS  TO  How  flat  and  commonplace !  O  that  it  were 
in  my  heart,  nerves,  and  muscles !  O  that  it 
were  the  prudential  soid  of  all  I  love,  of  all  who 
deserve  to  be  loved,  in  every  projiosed  action  to 
ask  yourself.  To  what  end  is  this  ?  and  how  is 
this  the  means  ?  and  not  the  means  to  something 
else  foreign  to  or  abhorrent  from  my  purpose  ? 
Distinct  means  to  distinct  ends  I  With  friends 
and  beloved  ones  follow  the  heart.  Better  be 
deceived  twenty  times  than  suspect  one  twentieth 
90 


ANIMA  POETiE 

of  once  ;  but  with  strangers,  or  enemies,  or  in  a 
quarrel,  whether  in  the  world's  squabbles,  as  Dr. 
Stoddart's  and  Dr.  Sorel  in  the  Admiralty 
Court  at  Malta ;  or  in  moral  businesses,  as 
mine  with  Southey  or  Lloyd  (O  pardon  me, 
dear  and  honored  Southey,  that  I  put  such  a 
name  by  the  side  of  yours  .  .  .  )  —  in  all  those 
cases,  write  your  letter,  disburthen  yourself,  and 
when  you  have  done  it  —  even  as  when  you  have 
pared,  sliced,  vinegared,  oiled,  peppered  and 
salted  your  plate  of  cucumber,  you  are  directed 
to  smell  it,  and  then  throw  it  out  of  the  window 
—  so,  dear  friend,  vinegar,  pepper,  and  salt  your 
letter  —  your  cucumber  argument,  that  is,  cool 
reasoning  previously  sauced  with  passion  and 
sharpness  —  then  read  it,  eat  it,  drink  it,  smell 
it,  with  eyes  and  ears  (a  small  cataclu-esis  but 

never  mind),  and  then  throw  it  into  the  fii-e 

unless  you  can  put  down  in  three  or  four  sen- 
tences (I  cannot  allow  more  than  one  side  of  a 
sheet  of  paper)  the  disti7ict  end  for  which  you 
conceive  this  letter  (or  whatever  it  be)  to  be 
the  distinct  means!  How  trivial!  Would  to 
God  it  were  only  Tiahitual  I  O  what  is  sadder 
than  that  the  cramhe  his  coda  of  the  imderstand- 
ing  should  be  and  remain  a  foreign  dish  to  the 
efficient  wji7^— that  the  best  and  loftiest  precepts 
of  wisdom  should  be  trivial,  and  the  worst  and 
lowest  modes  of  folly  habitual. 


CONCEITS 


[I]  have  learnt,  sometimes  not  at  all,  and  verbal 
seldom  harshly,  to  chide  those  conceits  of  words 
which  are  analogous  to  sudden  fleeting  affinities 
of  mind.  Even,  as  in  a  dance,  you  touch  and 
join  and  off  again,  and  rejoin  your  partner  that 
91 


ANIMA  POET^ 

leads  down  with  you  the  dance,  in  spite  of  these 
occasional  off-starts  —  for  they,  too,  not  merely 
conform  to,  but  are  of  and  in  and  help  to  form, 
the  delicious  harmony.  Shaksj^ere  is  not  a  thou- 
sandth part  so  faulty  as  the  000  believe  him. 
"  Thus  him  that  over-rul'd  I  over-sway'd,"  etc., 
etc.  I  noticed  this  to  that  bubbling  ice-sjnnng 
of  cold-hearted,  mad-headed  fanaticism,  the  late 
Dr.  Geddes,  in  the  "  Ileri  vlcU  fragilem  frangi^ 
hodle  mortalem  moin" 

[Dr.  Alexander  Geddes,  1737-1802,  was, 
inter  alia,  author  of  a  revised  translation  of 
the  Scriptures.] 

THE  How  often  I  have  occasion  to  notice  with  pure 

delight  the  depth  of  the  exceeding  blueness  of 
the  Mediterranean  from  my  window!  It  is 
often,  indeed,  purple  ;  but  I  am  speaking  of  its 
blueness  —  a  perfect  blue,  so  very  pure  an  one. 
The  sea  is  like  a  night-sky;  and  but  for  its 
planities,  it  were  as  if  the  night-sky  were  a 
thing  that  turned  round  and  lay  in  the  daytime 
under  the  paler  heaven.  And  it  is  on  this  ex- 
panse that  the  vessels  have  the  fine  white  daz- 
zling cotton  sails. 


BRIGHT 
BLUE  SEA 


THE 
BIRTH  OF 


Centuries  before  their  mortal  incarnation,  Jove 
THE  IDEA  "^^^  wont  to  manifest  to  the  gods  the  several 
creations  as  they  emerged  from  the  divine  ideal. 
Now  it  was  reported  in  heaven  that  an  unusu- 
ally fair  creation  of  a  woman  was  emerging,  and 
Venus,  fearful  that  her  son  should  become  en- 
amored as  of  yore  with  Psyche  (what  time  he 
wandered  alone,  his  bow  unslung,  and  using  his 
darts  only  to  cut  out  her  name  on  rocks  and 
92 


ANIMA  POET.E 

trees,  or,  at  best,  to  shoot  huinining-birtls  and 
birds  of  Paradise  to  make  feather  chaplets  for 
her  hair ;  and  the  world,  meanwhile,  grown  love- 
less, —  hardened  into  the  Iron  Age),  entreats 
Jove  to  secrete  this  form  [of  perilous  beauty]. 
But  Cupid,  who  had  heard  the  report,  and  fondly 
expected  a  re-manifestation  of  Psyche,  hid  him- 
self in  the  hollow  of  the  sacred  oak  beneath 
■which  the  Father  of  Gods  had  withdrawn,  as  to 
an  unapproachable  adytum,  and  beheld  the  Idea 
emerging  in  its  First  Gloi^y.  Forthwith  the 
wanton  was  struck  blind  by  the  splendor  ere 
yet  the  blaze  had  defined  itself  with  form,  and 
now  his  aiTows  strike  but  vaguely. 

I  have  somewhere   read,  or  I   have    dreamt,  the  cox- 
a  wild  tale    of  Ceres'  loss  of    Proserpine,   and  of  cehks 
her  final  recovery  of  her  daughter  by  means  of 
Christ  when  He  descended   into  hell,  at  which 
time  she  met  Him  and  abjured  all  worship  for 
the  future. 

It  were  a  quaint  mythological  conceit  to  feign 
that  the  gfods  of  Greece  and  Rome  were  some 
of  the  hest  of  the  fallen  spirits,  and  that  of  their 
number  Apollo,  Mars,  and  the  Muses  were  con- 
verted to  Christianity,  and  became  different 
saints. 

The  ribbed  flame  —  its  snatches  of  impatience,  as  the 
that  half  seem,  and  only  seem  that  half,  to  baffle  ^'''^'*'^^ 
its  upward  rush ;  the  eternal  unity  of  individ- 
ualities whose  essence  is  in  their  distinguishable- 
ness,  even  as  thought  and  fancies  in  the  mind  ;  the 
points  of  so  many  cherubic  swords  snatched  back, 
but  never  discouraged,  still  fountainiug  uj)wards ; 
93 


FLY 
UPWAUD 


ANIMA  POET.E 

— flames  sel£-suatclied  up  heavenward,  if  earth 
supply  the  fuel,  heaven  the  dry  light  air  —  them- 
selves still  making-  the  current  that  will  fan  and 
spread  them  —  yet  all  their  force  in  vain,  if  of 
itself  —  and  light  dry  air,  heaped  fuel,  fanning 
breeze  as  idle,  if  no  inward  spark  lurks  there, 
or  lurks  unkindled.  Such  a  spark,  O  man !  is 
thy  Free  Will  —  the  star  whose  beams  are  Vir- 
tue. 

94 


CHAPTER  IV. 

*  1S05. 

"  Alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone, 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea  ! 
And  never  a  saint  took  pity  on 
My  soul  in  agony." 

8.  T.  C. 


This  evening  there  was  the  most  perfect  and  the  sense 


OF  MAGSI- 


the   brightest   halo    circling   the    roundest    and  xudk 
brio^htest  moon  I  ever  beheld.     So  brioiit  was  Tuesday, 

Til  .  .  J''*"-  I'J' 

the  halo,  so  compact,  so  entire  a  circle,  that  i«05 
it  gave  the  whole  of  its  area,  the  moon  itself 
included,  the  appearance  of  a  solid  opaque 
body,  an  enormous  planet.  It  was  as  if  this 
planet  had  a  circular  trough  of  some  light- 
reflecting  fluid  for  its  rim  (that  is,  the  halo),  and 
its  centre  (that  is,  the  moon)  a  small  circular 
basin  of  some  fluid  that  still  more  copiously 
reflected,  or  that  even  emitted  light ;  and  as  if 
the  interspatial  area  were  somewhat  equally  sub- 
stantial, but  sullen.  Thence  I  have  found  occa^"^ 
sion  to  meditate  on  the  nature  of  the  sense  of 
magnitude  and  its  absolute  dependence  on  the 
idea  of  siih stance ;  the  consequent  difference 
between  magnitude  and  spaciousness,  the  de- 
pendence of  the  idea  on  double-touch,  and 
thence  to  evolve  all  our  feelings  and  ideas  of 
magnitude,  magnitudinal  sublimity,  etc.,  from  a 
scale  of  our  own  bodies.  For  why,  if  form  con- 
stituted the  sense,  that  is,  if  it  were  pure  vision, 
as  a  perceptive  sense  abstracted  from  feeling  in 
95 


ANIMA  POETiE 

the  organ  of  vision,  —  why  do  I  seek  for  moun- 
tains, when  in  the  flattest  countries  the  clouds 
present  so  many  and  so  much  move  romantic 
and  spacious  forms,  and  the  coal-fire  so  many, 
so  much  more  varied  and  lovely  forms  ?  And 
whence  arises  the  pleasure  from  musing  on  the 
letter?  Do  I  not,  more  or  less  consciously,  fancy 
myself  a  Lilliijutian,  to  whom  these  would  be 
mountains,  and  so,  by  this  factitious  scale,  make 
them  mountains,  my  pleasure  being  consequently 
playful,  a  voluntary  poem  in  hieroglyphics  or 
picture-writing  —  ^'' ^ohantoms  of  sublimity," 
which  I  continue  to  know  to  be  'plianto'ms  ? 
And  form  itself,  is  not  its  main  agency  exerted 
in  individualizing  the  thing,  making  it  this  and 
that,  and  thereby  facilitating  the  shadowy  mea- 
surement of  it  by  the  scale  of  my  own  body  ? 

Yon  long,  not  unvaried,  ridge  of  hills,  that 
runs  out  of  sight  each  way,  it  is  spacious^  and 
the  j)leasure  derivable  from  it  is  from  its  run- 
ning, its  motion,  its  assimilation  to  action;  and 
here  the  scale  is  taken  from  my  life  and  soul, 
and  not  from  my  body.  Space  is  the  Hebrew 
name  for  God,  and  it  is  the  most  perfect  image 
of  soul,  pure  soul,  being  to  us  nothing  but  unre- 
sisted action.  Whenever  action  is  resisted,  limi- 
tation begins  —  and  limitation  is  the  first  constit- 
uent of  body  —  the  more  omnipresent  it  is  in  a 
given  space,  the  more  that  space  is  Jjody  or  mat- 
ter —  and  thus  all  body  necessarily  presupposes 
soul,  inasmuch  as  all  resistance  presupposes  ac- 
tion. Magnitude,  therefore,  is  the  intimate  blend- 
ing, the  most  perfect  union,  through  its  whole 
sphere,  in  every  minutest  part  of  it,  of  action  and 
resistance  to  action.  It  is  spaciousness  in  which 
96 


ANIMA   POET.E 

space  is  filled  up  —  that  is,  as  we  well  say,  trans- 
mitted by  ineoriiorate  accession,  not  destroyed. 
In  all  limited  things,  that  is,  in  all  forms,  it  is  at 
least  fantastically  stopped,  and,  thus,  from  the 
positive  (jrasp  to  the  mountain,  from  the  moun- 
tain to  the  cloud,  from  the  cloud  to  the  blue  depth 
of  sky,  which,  as  on  the  top  of  Etna,  in  a  serene 
atmosphere,  seems  to  go  heJiind  the  sun,  all  is 
graduation,  that  preludes  division,  indeed,  but 
not  distinction ;  and  he  who  endeavors  to  overturn 
a  distinction  by  showing  that  there  is  no  chasm, 
by  the  old  sophism  of  the  cumulus  or  the  horse's 
tail,  is  still  diseased  with  the  formication,^  the 
(what  is  the  nosological  name  of  it  ?  the  hairs 
or  dancing  infinites  of  black  specks  seeming 
always  to  be  before  the  eye),  —  the  araneosis  of 
corj^uscular  materialism.  —  S.  T.  C. 

The  least  things,  how  they  evidence  the  supe-  stray 
riority  of  English  artisans !      Even  the  Maltese  ^oTthY^ 
wafers,  for   instance,  that  stick   to  your  mouth  "  soother 
and  fingers  almost  so  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  sence  " 
get  them  off  without  squeezing  them  into  a  little 
pellet,  and  yet  will  not  stick  to  the  paper. 

Every  one  of  tolerable  education  feels  the  imi- 
tahillty  of  Dr.  Johnson's  and  other-such's  style, 
the  inimitability  of  Shakspere's,  etc.     Hence,  I 

1  When  instead  of  the  g:eneral  feeling'  of  the  life-blood  in  its 
equable  individual  motion,  and  the  consequent  wholeness  of 
the  one  feeling  of  the  skin,  we  feel  as  if  a  heap  of  ants  were 
running'  over  us,  —  the  one  corrupting  into  ten  thousand,  —  so  in 
araneosis,  instead  of  the  one  view  of  the  air,  or  blue  sky,  a 
thousand  specks,  etc.,  dance  before  the  eye.  The  metaphor  is 
as  just  as,  of  a  metaphor,  any  one  has  a  right  to  claim,  but  it  is 
clumsily  expressed.  —  S.  T.  C. 

97 


ANIMA  POET^E 

believe,  arises  the  partiality  of  tliousancis  for 
Johnson.  They  can  imagine  tJicmselvcs  doing 
the  same.  Vanity  is  at  the  bottom  of  it.  The 
number  of  imitators  proves  this  in  some  measure. 

Of  the  feelings  of  the  English  at  the  sight  of 
a  convoy  from  England.  Man  cannot  be  selfish 
—  that  part  of  me  (my  beloved)  which  is  dis- 
tant, in  space,  excites  the  same  feeling  as  the 
"  ich  "  ^  distant  from  me  in  time.  My  friends 
are  indeed  my  soul ! 

Jan.  22,  I  had  not  moved  from  my  seat,  and  wanted 

^^^^  the  stick  of  sealing-wax,  nearly  a  whole  one,  for 

another  letter.  I  could  not  find  it,  it  was  not  on 
the  table  —  had  it  dropped  on  the  ground?  I 
searched  and  searched  everywhere,  my  j)ockets, 
my  fobs,  impossible  places  —  literally  it  had  van- 
ished, and  where  was  it  ?  It  had  stuck  to  my 
elbow,  I  having  leaned  upon  it  ere  it  had  grown 
cold!  A  curious  accident,  and  in  no  way  sim- 
ilar to  that  of  the  butcher  and  his  steel  in 
his  mouth  which  he  was  seeking  for.  Mine  was 
true  accident. 

The  maxims  which  govern  the  Courts  of  Ad- 
miralty, their  "  betwixt  and  between  "  of  pos- 
itive law  and  the  dictates  of  right  reason,  re- 
semble the  halfway  mter  jus  et  cequitatem  of 
Roman  jurisprudence.  It  were  worth  while  to 
examine  the  advantages  of  this  as  far  as  it  is  a 
real  modification,  its  disadvantages  as  far  as  it 
appears  a  jumble. 

^  I  have  the  same  anxiety  for  my  friend  now  in  England  as 
for  myself,  that  is  to  be,  or  may  be,  two  months  hence. 

98 


ANIMA  POET.E 

Seeing  a  nice  bed  of  glowing  embers  with  one 
junk  of  firewood  well  placed,  like  the  remains  of 
an  old  edifice,  and  another,  well-nigh  mouldered 
one  corresponding  to  it,  I  felt  an  impulse  to  put 
on  three  pieces  of  wood  that  exactly  completed 
the  perishable  architecture,  though  it  was  eleven 
o'clock,  though  I  was  that  instant  going  to  bed, 
and  there  could  be,  in  common  ideas,  no  possible 
use  in  it.  Hence  I  seem  (for  I  write,  not  hav- 
ing yet  gone  to  bed)  to  suspect  that  this  disease 
of  totalizing,  of  perfecting,  may  be  the  bottom 
impulse  of  many,  many  actions,  in  which  it 
never  is  brought  forward  as  an  avowed  or  even 
agnized  as  a  conscious  motive. 

Mem.  —  To  collect  facts  for  a  comparison  be- 
tween a  vxjod  and  a  coal  fu-e,  as  to  sights  and 
sounds  and  bodily  feeling. 

I  have  read  somewhere  of  a  sailor  w^ho  dreamt 
that  an  encounter  wath  the  enemy  was  about  to 
take  place,  and  that  he  should  discover  coward- 
ice during  action.  Accordingly  he  awakes  his 
brother  the  Captain,  and  bids  him  prepare  for  an 
engagement.  At  daybreak  a  ship  is  discovered 
on  the  horizon,  and  the  sailor,  mindful  of  his 
dream,  procures  himself  to  be  tied  to  a  post.  At 
the  close  of  the  day  he  is  released  un wounded,  but 
dead  from  fright.  Apply  tliis  incident  to  Miss 
Edgeworth's  Tales,  and  all  similar  attempts  to 
cure  faults  by  detailed  forewarnings,  which  leave 
on  the  similarly  faulty  an  impression  of  fatality 
that  extinguishes  hope. 

What  precedes  to  the  voice  foUows  to  the  eye, 
as  000.1  and  100.     A,  B,  C  —  were  they  men, 
99 


ANIMA  POET.E 

you  would  say  that  "  C  "  went  first,  but  being 
letters,  things  of  voice  and  ear  in  their  original, 
we  say  that  "  A  "  goes  first. 

There  are  many  men  who,  following,  made 
1=1000,  being  placed  at  head,  become  useless 
cyphers,  mere  finery  for  form's  sake. 

Feb.  1,  Of  the  millions  that  use  the  pen,  how  many 

Fiiday,  C^l^^^ry)  understand  the  story  of  this  machine, 
Malta  ^]jg  action  of  the  slit,  eh?  I  confess,  ridiculous 
as  it  must  appear  to  those  who  do  understand  it, 
that  I  have  not  been  able  to  answer  the  question 
off-hand  to  myself,  having  only  this  moment 
thought  of  it. 

Feb.  3,  The   gentlest    form   of    Death,  —  a   Sylphid 

Death,  —  passed  by,  beheld  a  sleeping  baby,  be- 
came. Narcissus-like,  enamored  of  its  own  self  in 
the  sweet  counterfeit,  seized  it,  and  carried  it  off 
as  a  mirx'or  close  by  the  green  Paradise;  but 
the  reviving  air  awakened  the  babe,  and  't  was 
death  that  died  at  the  sudden  loss. 


FRENCH 
LANGUAGE 
AND 
I'OETRY 


THE  I  cannot  admit  that  any  language  can  be  unfit 

for  poetry,  or  that  there  is  any  language  in  which 
a  divinely  inspired  architect  may  not  sustain  the 

Feb.  4,  lofty  edifice  of  verse  on  its  two  pillars  of  sub- 
limity and  pathos.  Yet  I  have  heard  French- 
men, nay,  even  Englishmen,  assert  that  of  the 
German,  which  contains  perhaps  an  hundred  pas- 
sages equal  to  the  — 

"  Und  ein  Gottist,  ein  heiliger  Wille  lebt, 
Wie  auch  der  menschliclie  wanke  ;  " 

and  I  have  heard  both  German  and  Englishmen 
100 


ANIMA   POET.E 

(and  these,  too,  men  of  true  feeling  and  genius, 
and  so  many  of  them  that  such  company  of  my 
betters  makes  me  not  ashamed  to  the  having  my- 
self been  guilty  of  this  injustice)  assert  that  the 
French  language  is  insusceptible  of  poetry  in  its 
higher  and  purer  sense,  —  of  poetry  which  excites 
emotion,  not  merely  creates  amusement;  which 
demands  continuous  admiration,  not  regular  re- 
currence of  conscious  surprise,  and  tlie  effect  of 
which  is  love  and  joy.  Unfortunately  the  man- 
ners, religion,  and  government  of  France,  and  the 
circumstances  of  its  emergence  from  the  poly- 
archy of  feudal  barony,  have  given  a  bad  taste  to 
the  Parisians  —  so  bad  a  one  as  doubtless  to  have 
mildewed  many  an  opening  blossom.  I  cannot 
say  that  I  know  and  can  name  any  one  French 
writer  that  can  be  placed  among  the  greater 
poets,  but  when  I  read  the  inscription  over  the 
Chartreuse  — 

"  C'est  ici  que  la  Mort  et  la  Verity 

Elevent  leurs  flambeaux  teiribles  ; 
C'est  de  cette  demeure  au  monde  inaccessible 
Que  Ton  passe  k  rEtemit^  "  — 

I  seem  to  feel  that  if  France  had  been  for  ages  a 
Protestant  nation,  and  a  Milton  had  been  born 
in  it,  the  French  language  would  not  have  pre- 
cluded the  production  of  a  "  Paradise  Lost," 
though  it  might,  perhaps,  that  of  a  Hamlet  or  a 
Lear. 

On  Friday  night,  8th  Feb.,  1805,  my  feeling,  tite  ab- 
in  sleejD,  of  exceeding  great  love  for  my  infant,  sklf 
seen  by  me  in  the  dream  !  —  yet  so  as  it  might  [,i"ii^"^*^ 
be  Sara,  Derwent,  or  Berldey,  and  still  it  was  an  Feb.  8, 
individual  babe  and  mine. 
101 


l.llinAHT 

»TATK  TBACHEWS  COLi.««» 

lANTA    •AltBAHA.   CAUII^HMIA 


lO^*:^:^ 


ANIMA  POETiE 

"  All  look  or  likeness  eauglit  from  earth, 

All  accident  of  kin  or  birth, 

Had  pass'd  away.     There  seem'd  no  trace 

Of  aught  upon  her  brighten 'd  face, 

Upraised  beneath  the  rifted  stone, 

Save  of  one  spirit  all  her  own  ; 

She,  she  herself,  and  only  she. 

Shone  through  her  body  visibly." 

Poetical  Works,  1893,  p.  172. 

This  abstract  self  is,  indeed,  in  its  nature  a 
Universal  personified,  as  Life,  Soid,  Spirit,  etc. 
Will  not  this  prove  it  to  be  a  deeper  feeling,  and 
of  such  intimate  affinity  with  ideas,  so  as  to  mod- 
ify them  and  become  one  with  them ;  whereas 
the  appetites  and  the  feelings  of  revenge  and 
anger  coexist  with  the  ideas,  not  combine  with 
them,  and  alter  the  apparent  effect  of  this  form, 
not  the  forms  themselves  ?  Certain  modifications 
of  fear  seem  to  approach  nearest  to  this  love- 
sense  in  its  manner  of  acting. 

Those  whispers  just  as  you  have  fallen  asleep 
—  what  are  they,  and  whence  ? 


LITTERA 
SCRIPTA 
MANET 

Monday, 
Feb.  11, 
1805 


I  must  own  to  a  superstitious  dread  of  the 
destruction  of  paper  worthy  of  a  Mahometan. 
But  I  am  also  ashamed  to  confess  to  myself  what 
pulling  back  of  heart  I  feel  whenever  I  wish  to 
light  a  candle  or  kindle  a  fire  with  a  Hospital  or 
Harbor  Report,  and  what  a  cimiulus  lies  on  my 
table,  I  not  able  to  conjecture  of  what  use  they 
can  ever  be,  and  yet  trembling  lest  what  I  then 
destroyed  might  be  of  some  use  in  the  way  of 
knowledge.  This  seems  to  be  the  excess  of  a 
good  feeling,  but  it  is  ridiculous. 
102 


ANIMA  POET^ 

It  Is  not  without  a  certain  sense  of  self-  cowper's 
reproof,  as  well  as  self -distrust,  that  I  ask,  or  jiks".  un- 
rather  that  my  understanding  suggests  to  me  ^'^ 
the  query,  whether  this  divine  jDoem  (in  so  origi- 
nal a  strain  of  thought  and  feeling  honorable  to 
human  nature)  would  not  have  been  more  per- 
fect if  the  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  stanzas  had 
been  omitted,  and  the  tenth  and  eleventh  trans- 
posed so  as  to  stand  as  the  third  and  fourth.  It 
is  not,  perhaps  not  at  all,  but,  certainly,  not 
principally  that  I  feel  any  meanness  in  the 
"  needles ;  "  but,  not  to  mention  that  the  words 
"  once  a  shining  store  "  is  a  speck  in  the  dia- 
mond (in  a  less  dear  poem  I  might,  perhaps, 
have  called  it  more  harshly  a  rJiyme-hotcK)^  and 
that  the  word  "  restless  "  is  rather  too  strong  an 
impersonation  for  the  serious  tone,  the  rea^ness 
of  the  poem,  and  seems  to  tread  too  closely  on 
the  mock  heroic  ;  but  that  it  seems  not  true  to 
poetic  feeling  to  introduce  the  affecting  circum- 
stance of  dimness  of  sight  from  decay  of  nature 
on  an  occasion  so  remote  from  the  to  /ca^o'Aou, 
and  that  the  fifth  stanza,  gracefid  and  even 
affecting  as  the  spirit  of  the  playfulness  is  or 
would  be,  at  least,  in  a  poem  having  less  depth 
of  feeling,  breaks  in  painfully  here  —  the  age 
and  afflicting  infirmities  both  of  the  writer  and 
his  subject  seem  abhorrent  from  such  trifling  of 
—  scarcely  fancy,  for  I  fear,  if  it  were  analyzed, 
that  the  whole  effect  would  be  found  to  depend 
on  phrases  hackneyed,  and  taken  from  the  alms- 
house of  the  Muses.  The  test  would  be  this : 
read  the  poem  to  a  well-educated  but  natural 
woman,  an  unaffected,  gentle  being,  endued  with 
sense  and  sensibility  —  substituting  the  tenth 
103 


ANIMA  POET^ 

and  eleventh  stanzas  for  those  three,  and  some 
days  after  show  her  the  poem  as  it  now  stands. 
I  seem  to  be  sure  that  she  would  be  shocked  — 
an  alien  would  have  intruded  himself,  and  be 
found  sitting  in  a  circle  of  dear  friends  whom 
she  expected  to  have  found  all  to  themselves. 

ETYMo-  To  say  that  etymology  is  a  science  is  to  use 

^^^^  this  word  in  its  laxest  and  improj)er  sense.  But 
our  language,  except,  at  least,  in  poetry,  has 
dropped  the  word  "  lore  "  —  the  lehre  of  the 
Germans,  the  logos  of  the  Greek.  Either  we 
should  have  retained  the  word  and  ventured  on 
root-lore^  verse-lore,  etc.,  or  have  adopted  the 
Greek  as  a  single  word  as  well  as  a  word  in 
combination.  All  novelties  appear,  or  are  rather 
felt,  as  ridiculous  in  language ;  but,  if  it  had  been 
once  adopted,  it  would  have  been  no  stranger  to 
have  said  that  etymology  is  a  logy  which  perishes 
from  a  plethora  of  probability,  than  that  the  art 
of  war  is  an  art  apparently  for  the  destruction 
and  subjugation  of  particular  states,  but  really 
for  the  lessening  of  bloodshed  and  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  liberties  of  mankind.  Art  and  Sci- 
ence are  both  too  much  appropriated  —  our  lan- 
guage wants  terms  of  comprehensive  generality, 
implying  the  kind,  not  the  degree  or  species,  as 
in  that  good  and  necessary  word  sensuous,  which 
we  have  likewise  dropped,  opposed  to  sensual, 
sensitive,  sensible,  etc.,  etc.  Chymistry  has  felt 
this  difficulty,  and  found  the  necessity  of  having 
one  word  for  the  supposed  cause,  another  for  the 
effect,  as  in  caloric  or  calorific,  opposed  to  heat; 
and  psychology  has  still  more  need  of  the  refor- 
mation. 

104 


ANBIA  POET^ 


The  Queen-bee  in  the  hive  of  Popish  Error,  senti- 


thc  great  mother  of  the  swarm,  seems  to  me 
their  tenet  concerning  Faith  and  Works,  placing 
the  former  wholly  in  the  rectitude,  nay,  in  the 
rightness  of  intellectual  conviction,  and  the  latter 
in  the  definite  and,  most  often,  the  material 
action,  and,  consequently,  the  assertion  of  the 
dividuous  nature  and  self-existence  of  works. 
Hence  the  doctrine  of  damnation  out  of  the 
Church  of  Rome  —  of  the  one  visible  Church  — 
of  the  absolute  efficiency  in  se  of  all  the  Sacra- 
ments and  the  absolute  merit  of  ceremonial  ob- 
servances. Consider  the  incalculable  advantage 
of  chiefly  dwelling  on  the  virtues  of  the  heart, 
of  habits  of  feeling  and  harmonious  action,  the 
music  of  the  adjusted  string  at  the  impulse  of 
the  breeze,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  evils  of 
books  concerning  particular  actions,  minute  cases 
of  conscience,  hair-splitting  directions  and  deci- 
sions, O  how  illustrated  by  the  detestable  char- 
acter of  most  of  the  Roman  Catholic  casuists ! 
No  actions  should  be  distinctly  described  but 
such  as  manifestly  tend  to  awaken  the  heart  to 
efficient  feeling,  whether  of  fear  or  of  love  — 
actions  that,  falling  back  on  the  fountain,  keep 
it  full,  or  clear  out  the  mud  from  its  pipes,  and 
make  it  play  in  its  abundance,  shining  in  that 
purity  in  which,  at  once,  the  purity  and  the  light 
is  each  the  cause  of  the  other,  the  light  purify- 
ing, and  the  purified  receiving  and  reflecting  the 
light,  sending  it  off  to  others ;  not,  like  the 
polished  mirror,  by  reflection  from  itself,  but  by 
transmission  through  itself. 
105 


MK.NT,  AN 
AXTIUOTE 
TO  CASflS- 
TKY 


ANBIA  POET^ 

Friday  +  Saturday,  12-1  o'clock  [March  2, 
1805]. 
THE  EM-  What  a  sky  !  the  not  yet  orbed  moon,  the 
spotted  oval,  blue  at  one  edge  from  the  deep 
utter  blue  of  the  sky  —  a  mass  of  pea?'Z-white 
cloud  below,  distant,  and  travelling  to  the  hori- 
zon, but  all  the  upper  part  of  the  ascent  and  all 
the  height  such  i^rofoimd  blue,  deep  as  a  deep 
river,  and  deep  in  color,  and  those  two  depths  so 
entirely  o«e,  as  to  give  them  eaning  and  expla- 
nation of  the  two  different  significations  of  the 
epithet.  Here,  so  far  from  divided^  they  were 
scarcely  distinct^  scattered  over  with  thin  pearl- 
white  cloudlets  —  hands  and  fingers  —  the  largest 
not  larger  than  a  floating  veil !  Unconsciously 
I  stretched  forth  my  arms  as  to  embrace  the 
sky,  and  in  a  trance  I  had  worshipped  God  in 
the  moon  —  the  spirit,  not  the  form.  I  felt  in 
how  innocent  a  feeling  Sabeism  might  have 
begun.  Oh  !  not  only  the  moon,  but  the  depths 
of  the  sky  !  The  moon  was  the  idea  ;  but  deep 
sky  is,  of  all  visual  impressions,  the  nearest  akin 
to  a  feeling.  It  is  more  a  feeling  than  a  sight, 
or,  rather,  it  is  the  melting  away  and  entire 
union  of  feeling  and  sight ! 

DisTEM-         Monday  morning,  which  I  ought  not  to  have 
WORST       known  not  to  be  Sunday  night,  2  o'clock,  March 

CALAMITY    4^    ][gQ5 

My  dreams  to-night  were  interfused  with 
struggle  and  fear,  though,  till  the  very  last,  not 
victors ;  but  the  very  last,  which  awoke  me,  was 
a  completed  nightmare,  as  it  gave  the  idea  and 
sensation  of  actual  grasp  or  touch  contrary  to 
my  will  and  in  apparent  consequence  of  the 
106 


ANIMA  POET^ 

malignant  will  of  the  external  form,  whether 
actually  appearing  or,  as  sometimes  happened, 
believed  to  exist  —  in  which  latter  case  I  have 
two  or  three  tunes  felt  a  horrid  touch  of  hatred, 
a  grasj),  or  a  weight  of  hate  and  horror  abstracted 
from  all  [conscious]  form  or  supposal  of  form, 
an  abstract  touchy  an  abstract  grasp,  an  abstract 
weight !  Quam  nihil  ad  genium  Papiliane 
tuum!  or,  in  other  words,  This  Machintosh 
would  prove  to  be  nonsense  by  a  Scotch  smile. 
The  last  [dream],  that  woke  me,  though  a  true 
nightmare,  was,  however,  a  mild  one.  I  cried 
out  early,  like  a  scarcely  hurt  child  who  knows 
himself  within  hearing  of  his  mother.  But, 
anterior  to  this,  I  had  been  playing  with  chil- 
dren, especially  with  one  most  lovely  child,  about 
two  years  or  two  and  a  half,  and  had  repeated  to 
her,  in  my  dream,  "  The  dews  were  falling  fast," 
etc.,  and  I  was  sorely  frightened  by  the  sneering 
and  fiendish  malignity  of  the  beautiful  creature, 
but  from  the  begimiing  there  had  been  a  terror 
about  it  and  proceeding  from  it.  I  shall  here- 
after read  the  Vision  in  "  Macbeth "  with  in- 
creased admiration. 

["  Quam  nihil  ad  genium  Papiniane  ttium,''^ 
was  the  motto  of  Tlie  Lyrical  Ballads.'] 

That  deep  intuition  of  our  oneness  —  is  it  not 
at  the  bottom  of  many  of  our  faults  as  well  as 
virtues  ?  the  dislike  that  a  bad  man  should  have 
any  virtues,  a  good  man  any  faults?  And  yet, 
too,  a  something  noble  and  incentive  is  in 
this. 

What  comfort  in  the  silent  eye   upraised  to 
107 


ANIMA   POET^ 


THE  OM- 
KISCIENT 
THE  COM- 
FORTER 


God  !  "  Thou  knowest."  O !  what  a  tlioudit ! 
Never  to  be  friendless,  never  to  be  unintelligible  ! 
The  omnipresence  has  been  generally  represented 
as  a  spy,  a  sort  of  Bentham's  Panopticon.^  O 
to  feel  that  the  pain  is  to  be  utterly  unintelligi- 
ble, and  then  —  "  O  God,  thou  understandest !  " 


POETS  AS 
CRITICS 
OF  POETS 


The  question  should  be  fairly  stated,  how  far  a 
man  can  be  an  adequate,  or  even  a  good  (as  far 
as  he  goes)  though  inadequate  critic  of  poetry 
who  is  not  a  poet,  at  least  in  jiosse  ?  Can  he  be 
an  adequate,  can  he  be  a  good  critic,  though  not 
commensurate  [with  the  poet  criticised]  ?  But 
there  is  yet  another  distinction.  Supposing  he 
is  not  only  a  poet,  but  is  a  bad  poet  ?  What 
then? 


IMMATURE 

CRITICS 

March  16, 
1805 


[The]  cause  of  the  offence  or  disgust  received 
by  the  mean  in  good  poems  when  we  are  young, 
and  its  diminution  and  occasional  evanescence 
when  we  are  older  in  true  taste  [is]  that,  at 
first,  we  are  from  various  causes  delighted  with 
generalities  of  nature  which  can  all  be  expressed 
in  dignified  words ;  but,  afterwards,  becoming 
more  intimately  acquainted  with  Nature  in  her 
detail,  we  are  delighted  with  distinct,  vivid  ideas, 
and  with  vivid  ideas  most  when  made  distinct, 
and  can  most  often  forgive  and  sometimes  be 
delighted  with  even  a  low  image  from  art  or  low 
life  when  it  gives  you  the  very  thing  by  an  illus- 
tration, as,  for  instance,  Cowper's  stream  "  inlay- 
ing "  the  level  vale  as  with  silver,  and  even 
Shakspere's  "  shrill-tongued  Tapster's  answering 

^  [  "  A  prison  so  constructed  that  the  inspector  can  see  each 
of  the  prisoners  at  all  times  -without  being  seen  by  them."  ] 

108 


ANIMA  POET^ 

shallow  wits  "  applied  to  echoes  in  an  echofull         « 
place. 

Of  the  not  being  able  to  know  whether  you  attex- 
are  smoking  in  the  dark  or  when  your  eyes  are  sexsation 
shut :  item,  of  the  ignorance  in  that  state  of  the  ^^^^  ^^' 
difference  of  beef,  veal,  etc.,  —  it  is  all  attention. 
Your  ideas  being  shut,  other  images  arise  which 
you  must  attend  to^  it  being  the  habit  of  a  seeing 
man  to  attend  chiefly  to  sight.     So  close  your 
eyes,  (and)  you  attend  to  the  ideal  images,  and, 
attending  to  them,  you  abstract  your  attention. 
It  is  the  same  when  deeply  thinking  in  a  reverie, 
you  no  longer  hear  distinct  sound  made  to  you. 
But  what   a  strange  inference  that  there  were 
no  sounds  ! 


I  love  St.  Combe  or  Coluraba,  and  he  shall  st. 


COLOMBA 


be  my  saint :  for  he  is  not  in  the  Catalogue  of 
Romish  Saints,  —  having  never  been  canonized 
at  Rome,  —  and  because  this  Apostle  of  the  Picts 
lived  and  gave  his  name  to  an  island  on  the 
Hebrides,  and  from  him  Switzerland  was  chris- 
tianized. 

"  I  will  write,"  I   said,  "  as   truly   as   I  can  experi- 

f  .  ,         -I       '       1'     '  t         ^  '  ENCE  AND 

trom   experience,  actual    individual    experience,  book 
not  from  book-knowledge."     But  yet  it  is  won-  ^^^^J^ 
derful  how  exactly  the   knowledge   from   good  Midijight, 
books  coincides  with  the  experience  of  men  of  1805 
the  world.      How  often,  when   I   was  younger, 
have  I  noticed  the  deep  delight  of  men  of  the 
world  who  have  taken  late  in  life  to  literature, 
on  coming  across  a  passage  the  force  of  which 
109 


ANBIA  POET^E 

had  either  escaped  me  altogether,  or  which  I 
knew  to  be  true  from  books  only  and  at  second 
hand !  Experience  is  necessary,  no  doubt,  if 
only  to  give  a  light  and  shade  in  the  mind,  to 
give  to  some  one  idea  a  greater  vividness  than  to 
others,  and  thereby  to  make  it  a  Thing  of  Time 
and  actual  reality.  For  all  ideas  being  equally 
vivid,  the  whole  becomes  a  dream.  But,  notwith- 
standing this  and  other  reasons,  I  yet  believe 
that  the  saws  against  book-knowledge  are  handed 
down  to  us  from  times  when  books  conveyed  only 
abstract  science  or  abstract  morality  and  reli- 
gion. Whereas,  in  the  present  day,  what  is  there 
of  real  life,  in  all  its  goings-on,  trades,  manufac- 
tures, high  life,  low  life,  animate  and  inanimate, 
that  is  not  to  be  found  in  books  ?  In  these  days 
books  are  conversation.  And  this,  I  know,  is  for 
evil  as  well  as  good,  but  for  good,  too,  as  well  as 
evil. 

DUTY  AND  How  feebly,  how  unlike  an  English  cock, 
terest"  that  cock  crows  and  the  other  answers !  Did 
n^nmff  ^  ^^^  particularly  notice  the  ?fwlikeness  on  my 
4  o'clock,  first  arrival  at  Malta  ?  Well,  to-day  I  will  dis- 
1805  burthen  my  mind.      let  one  thing  strikes  me  : 

the  difference  I  find  in  myself  during  the  past 
year  or  two.  My  enthusiasm  for  the  happiness 
of  mankind  in  particular  places  and  countries, 
and  my  eagerness  to  promote  it,  seems  to  de- 
crease, and  my  sense  of  duty,  my  hauntings  of 
conscience,  from  any  stain  of  thought  or  action 
to  increase  in  the  same  ratio.  I  remember  hav- 
ing written  a  strong  letter  to  my  most  dear 
and  honored  Wordsworth  in  consequence  of 
his  "  Ode  to  Duty,"  and  in  that  letter  explained 
110 


ANBIA  POETiE 

this  as  the  effect  of  self ness  in  a  mind  incapable 
of  gross  seK-interest  —  I  mean,  the  decrease  of 
hope  and  joy,  the  soul  in  its  round  and  round 
flight  forming  narrower  circles,  till  at  every  gyre 
its  wings  beat  against  the  i^ersonal  self.  But  let 
me  examine  this  more  accurately.  It  may  be 
that  the  phenomena  wiU  come  out  more  honor- 
able to  our  nature. 

It  is  as  trite  as  it  is  mournful  (but  yet  most  evil  pro- 
instructive),  and  by  the  genius  that  can  pro-  evi^l^ 
duce  the  strongest  impressions  of  novelty  by 
rescuing  the  stalest  and  most  admitted  truths 
from  the  impotence  caused  by  the  very  circum- 
stance of  theii"  universal  admission  —  admitted  so 
instantly  as  never  to  be  reflected  on,  never  by 
that  sole  key  of  reflection  admitted  into  the 
effective,  legislative  chamber  of  the  heart  —  so 
true  that  they  lose  all  the  privileges  of  Truth, 
and,  as  extremes  meet  by  being  truisms^  cor- 
respond in  utter  inefficiency  with  universally 
acknowledged  errors  (in  Algebraic  symbols 
Truisms  =  Falsehoodisms  =  00)  —  by  that  genius, 
I  say,  might  good  be  worked  in  considering  the 
old,  old  Methusalem  saw  that  "evil  produces 
evil."  One  error  almost  compels  another.  Tell 
one  lie,  tell  a  hundred.  Oh,  to  show  this,  a 
priori,  by  bottoming  it  in  all  our  faculties  and 
by  experience  of  touching  examples ! 


The  favorite  object  of  all  Oriental  tales,  and  john 
that  which,  whilst  it  inspired  their  authors   in  worth 
the  East,  stiU  inspires  their  readers  everywhere,  ^p^rii^s^' 
is  the  impossibility  of  baffling  Destiny  —  the  per- 1^^^^ 
ception  that  what  we  considered  as  the  means 
111 


ANIMA  POET^ 

of  one  tiling  becomes,  in  a  strange  manner, 
tlie  direct  means  of  the  reverse.  O  dear  John 
Wordsworth !  what  joy  at  Grasmere  that  you 
were  made  Captain  of  the  Abergavenny,  and 
so  young  too !  Now  it  was  next  to  certain 
that  you  would  in  a  few  years  settle  in  your 
native  hills  and  be  verily  one  of  the  Concern! 
Then  came  your  share  in  the  brilliant  action 
with  Linois.  (I  was  at  Grasmere  in  spirit  only, 
but  in  spirit  I  was  one  of  the  rejoicers  —  as  joy- 
ful as  any,  and,  perhaps,  more  joyous !)  This, 
doubtless,  not  only  enabled  you  to  lay  in  a 
larger  and  more  advantageous  cargo,  but  pro- 
cured you  a  voyage  to  India  instead  of  China, 
and  in  this  circumstance  a  next  to  certainty  of 
independence — and  all  these  were  decoys  of 
Death !  Well,  but  a  nobler  feeling  than  these 
vain  regrets  would  become  the  friend  of  the 
man  whose  last  words  were :  "  I  have  done  my 
duty !  let  her  go !  "  Let  us  do  oiu*  duty !  all 
else  is  a  dream,  life  and  death  alike  a  dream. 
This  short  sentence  would  comprise,  I  believe, 
the  sum  of  all  profound  philosophy,  of  ethics 
and  metaphysics  conjointly,  from  Plato  to 
Fichte ! 

[  Vide  Letters  of  S.  T.  C,  1895,  ii.  495,  note.] 

LOVE  THE  The  best,  the  truly  lovely  in  each  and  all,  is 
God.  Therefore  the  truly  beloved  is  the  symbol 
of  God  to  whomever  it  is  truly  beloved  by,  but 
it  may  become  perfect  and  maintained  love  by 
the  function  of  the  two.  The  lover  worships  in 
his  beloved  that  final  consummation  of  itself  which 
is  produced  in  his  own  soul  by  the  action  of  the 
soul  of  the  beloved  upon  it,  and  that  final  percep- 
112 


DIVINE 

ESSENCE 


ANIMA  POET^ 

tion  of  the  soul  of  the  beloved  which  is  in  part  the 
consequence  of  the  reaction  of  his  (so  amelio- 
rated and  regenerated)  soul  upon  the  soul  of  his 
beloved,  till  each  contemplates  the  soul  of  the 
other  as  involving  his  own,  both  in  its  givings 
and  its  receivings,  and  thus,  still  keeping  alive 
its  outness.  Its  self-ohlivion  united  with  self- 
warmth,  still  approximates  to  God !  Where 
shall  I  find  an  image  for  this  sublime  symbol 
which,  ever  involving  the  presence  of  Deity,  yet 
tends  towards  it  ever  ?  Shall  it  be  in  the  attrac- 
tive powers  of  the  different  surfaces  of  the  earth? 
each  attraction  the  vicegerent  and  representative 
of  the  central  attraction,  and  yet  being  no  other 
than  that  attraction  itself  ?  By  some  such  feeling 
as  this  I  can  easily  believe  the  mind  of  Fenelon 
and  Madame  Guyon  to  have  colored  its  faith  in 
the  worship  of  saints,  but  that  was  most  danger- 
ous. It  was  not  idolatry  in  them,  but  it  encour- 
aged idolatry  in  others.  Now,  the  pure  love  of 
a  good  man  for  a  good  woman  does  not  involve 
this  evil,  but  it  multiplies,  intensifies  the  good. 

Dreamt  that  I  was  saying  or  reading,  or  that  order  in 
it  was  read  to  me,  "  Varrius  thus  prophesied 
vinegar  at  his  door  by  damned  frigid  trem- 
blings." Just  after,  I  woke.  I  fell  to  sleep 
again,  having  In  the  previous  doze  meditated  on 
the  possibility  of  making  dreams  regular :  and 
just  as  I  had  passed  on  the  other  side  of  the  con- 
fine of  dozing,  I  afforded  this  specimen :  "  I 
should  have  thought  it  Vossius  rather  than  Var- 
rius, though,  Varrius  being  a  great  poet,  the 
idea  would  have  been  more  suitable  to  him,  only 
that  all  his  writings  were  vmfortunately  lost  in 
113 


ANIMA  POET^ 

the  Ai'roio.''^  Again  I  awoke.  N.  B.  —  The 
Arrow^  Captain  Vincent's  frigate,  from  which 
our  Malta  letters  and  dispatches  had  been  pre- 
viously thrown  overboard,  was  taken  by  the 
French,  in  February,  1805.  This  illustrates  the 
connection  qj  dreams. 

ORANGE  I  never  had  a  more  lovely  twig  of  orange-blos- 
AprU  8*'  soms,  with  four  old  last  year's  leaves  with  their 
i^^^  steady  green  well-placed  among  them,  than  to- 

day, and  with  a  rose-twig  of  three   roses   [it] 
made  a  very  striking  nosegay  to  an  Englishman. 
The  orange  twig  was  so  very  full  of  blossoms 
^  that  one-fourth  of  the  number  becoming  fruit  of 

the  natural  size  would  have  broken  the  twig  off. 
Is  there,  then,  disproportion  here  ?  or  waste  ?  O 
no !  no  !  In  the  first  place,  here  is  a  prodigality 
of  beauty ;  and  what  harm  do  they  do  by  exist- 
ing ?  And  is  not  man  a  being  capable  of  Beauty 
even  as  of  Hunger  and  Thirst  ?  And  if  the 
latter  be  fit  objects  of  a  final  cause,  why  not  the 
former?  But  secondly  [Nature]  hereby  multi- 
plies manifold  the  chances  of  a  projoer  number 
becoming  fruit ;  in  this  twig,  for  instance,  for 
one  set  of  accidents  that  would  have  been  fatal 
to  the  year's  growth  if  only  as  many  blossoms 
had  been  on  it  as  it  was  designed  to  bear  fruit, 
there  may  now  be  three  sets  of  accidents  —  and 
no  harm  done.  And,  thirdly  and  lastly,  for  me 
at  least  —  or,  at  least,  at  present,  for  in  nature 
doubtless  there  are  many  additional  reasons,  and 
possibly  for  me  at  some  future  hour  of  reflection, 
after  some  new  influx  of  information  from  books 
or  observance  —  and,  thirdly,  these  blossoms  are 
Fruit,  fruit  to  the  winged  insect,  fruit  to  man  — 
114 


ANIMA  POET^ 

yea !  and  of  more  solid  value,  perhaps,  than  the 
orange  itself  !  O  how  the  Bees  be-throng  and 
be-murmur  it !  O  how  the  honey  tells  the  tale 
of  its  birthplace  to  the  sense  of  sight  and  odor  ! 
and  to  how  many  minute  and  uneyeable  insects 
beside  !  So,  I  cannot  but  think,  ought  I  to  be 
talking  to  Hartley,  and  sometimes  to  detail  all 
the  insects  that  have  arts  or  implements  resem- 
bling hiunan  —  the  sea-snails,  with  the  nautilus 
at  their  head  ;  the  wheel-insect,  the  galvanic  eel, 
etc. 

[This  note  was  printed  in  the  Illustrated  Lon- 
don News,  June  10,  1893.] 

In  looking  at  objects  of  Nature  while  I  am  anticipa- 
thinking,    as   at   yonder   moon     dim-glimmering  "atuee* 
through  the  dewy  window-pane,  I  seem  rather  to  ^'^^  }'^ 
be  seeking,  as  it  were  asking  for,  a  symbolical  Saturday 
language  for  something  within  me  that  already  April' 14, 
and  forever  exists,  than  observing  anything  new.  ^^'^ 
Even  when  that  latter  is  the  case,  yet  still  I 
have  always  an  obscure  feeling  as  if  that  new 
phenomenon  were  the  dim  awaking  of  a  forgot- 
ten or  hidden  truth  of  my  inner  nature.     It  is 
still  interesting  as  a  word  —  a  symbol.      It  is 
Aoyos,   the   Creator  and   the   Evolver !     [Now] 
what  is  the  right,  the  virtuous  feeling,  and  conse- 
quent action  when  a  man,  having  long  meditated 
on  and  perceived  a  certain  truth,  finds  another,  a 
foreign  writer,  who  has  handled  the  same  with 
an  approximation  to  the  truth  as  he  had  previ- 
ously conceived  it?    Joy  !     Let  Truth  make  her 
voice  audible  !     While  I  was  preparing  the  pen 
to  write  this  remark,  I  lost  the  train  of   thought 
which  had  led  me  to  it.     I  meant  to  have  asked 
115 


ANIMA  POET.E 

something  else  now  forgotten.  For  the  above 
answers  itself.  It  needed  no  answer,  I  trust,  in 
my  heart. 

[Printed  in  Life  of  S.   T.   C,  by  James  Gill- 
man,  1838,  p.  3li.] 

THE  HOPE       That  beautiful  passage  in  dear  and  honored 

MAiaxY     W.    Wordsworth's   "  Michael,"   respecting    the 

iun^a       forward-looking  Hoj)e  inspired  preeminently  by 

1805  the  birth  of  a  child,  was  brought  to  my  mind 

most  forcibly  by  my  own  independent  though,  in 

part,  anticipated  reflections  on  the  importance  of 

young  children  to  the  keeping  up  the  stock  of 

Hope  in  the  human  species.     They  seem  to  be 

the  immediate  and  secreting  organ  of  Hope  in 

the  great  organized  body  of  the  whole  human 

race,  in   all  men  considered   as   the   component 

atoms  of  Man  —  as  young  leaves  are  the  organs 

of  supplying  vital  air  to  the  atmosphere. 

Thus  living  on  through  such  a  length  of  years, 
The  Shepherd,  if  he  loved  himself,  must  needs 
Have   loved    his   Helpmate ;    but   to   Michael's 

heart 
This  son  of  his  old  age  was  yet  more  dear  — 
Less  from  instinctive  tenderness,  the  same 
Fond  spirit  that  blindly  works  in  the  blood  of 

all  — 
That  that  a  child,  more  than  all  other  gifts 
That  earth  can  offer  to  declining  man. 
Brings    hope    with     it,    and     forward  -  looking 

thoughts. 
And  stirrings  of  inquietude,  when  they 
By  tendency  of  nature  needs  must  fail. 
Poetical  Works  of  W.  Wordsioorth^  p.  133. 
116 


ORTHERN 
AKTEK 


ANIMA  FOETJR 

The   English  and  German  climates  and  that  the 
of  northern  France  possess,  among  many  others,  p. 
this  one  little  beauty  of  uniting  the  mysteries  Ea«^r 
of  positive  with  those  of  natural   religion  —  in  1805 
celebrating  the   symbolical   resurrection  of   the 
human  soul  in  that  of  the  Crucified,  at  the  time 
of  the  actual  resurrection  of  the  "  living  life  "  of 
nature. 

Religion  consists  in  truth  and  virtue,  that  is,  spiritual 
the  permanent,  the  forma  efformans,  in  the  flux 
of  things  without,  of  feelings  and  images  within. 
Well,  therefore,  does  the  Scripture  speak  of  the 
Spirit  as  praying  to  the  Spirit,  "  The  Lord  said 
to  my  Lord."  God  is  the  essence  as  well  as  the 
object  of  religion. 

I  would  not  willingly  kill  even  a  flower,  but  a  supposi- 
were  I  at  the  head  of  an  army,  or  a  revolutionary  Wednes- 
kingdom,  I  would  do  my  duty ;    and  though  it  17  ^ig^j'"^ 
should  be  the  ordering  of  the  military  execution 
of  a  city,  yet,  supposing  it  to  be  my  duty,  I 
would  give  the  order  —  and  then,  in  awe,  listen 
to  the  uproar,  even  as  to  a  thunderstorm  —  the 
awe  as  tranquil,  the  submission  to  the  inevitable, 
to  the  unconnected  with  myself,  as  profound.    It 
should  be  as  if  the  lightning  of  heaven  passed 
along  my  sword  and  destroyed  a  man. 

Does  the  sober  judgment  previously  measure  entiiusi- 
out  the  banks  between  which  the  stream  of 
enthusiasm  shall  rush  with  its  torrent-sound  ? 
Far  rather  does  the  stream  itself  plough  up  its 
own  channel  and  find  its  banks  in  the  adamant 
rocks  of  nature ! 

117 


ANIMA  POET.E 

ADH^siT  There  are  times  when  my  thoughts  —  how  like 
MENTo  music  !  O  that  these  times  were  more  frequent ! 
coK  gyi;  i^ow  can  they  be,  I  being  so  hopeless,  and 

for  months  past  so  incessantly  employed  in  offi- 
cial tasks,  subscribing,  examining,  administering 
oaths,  auditing,  and  so  forth  ? 


THE  KEAL-      Johu  Tobiu  dead,  and  just  after  the  success  of 
OF  DEATH  his  play !  and  Robert  Allen  dead  suddenly  ! 

O  when  we  are  young  we  lament  for  death 
only  by  sympathy,  or  with  the  general  feeling 
with  which  we  grieve  for  misfortunes  in  general, 
but  there  comes  a  time  (and  this  year  is  the 
time  that  has  come  to  me)  when  we  lament  for 
death  as  death,  when  it  is  felt  for  itself,  and  as 
itself,  aloof  from  all  its  consequences.  Then 
comes  the  gravestone  into  the  heart  with  all  its 
mournful  names ;  then  the  bellman's  or  clerk's 
verses  subjoined  to  the  bills  of  mortality  are  no 
longer  commonplace. 

[John  Tobin,  the  dramatist,  died  December  7, 
1804.  His  play  entitled  "The  Honeymoon" 
was  published  in  1805. 

Robert  Allen,  Coleridge's  contemporary  and 
school-friend,  held  the  post  of  deputy-surgeon  to 
the  2d  Royals,  then  on  service  in  Portugal.  He 
was  a  friend  of  Dr.  (afterwards  Sir  J.)  Stod- 
dart,  with  whom  Coleridge  stayed  on  his  first 
arrival  at  Malta.  See  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb^ 
MacmiUan,  1888,  i.  188.] 

LOVE  AND       Wiirde,   worthiness,   virtue,  consist    in   the 

mastery  over  the  sensuous  and  sensual  impulses ; 

but  love   requires  innocence.      Let  the    lover 

ask  his   heart  whether  he  can  endure  that  his 

118 


ANIMA  POET^ 

mistress  should  have  strugfjled  with  a  sensual 
impulse  for  another  man,  though  she  overcame 
it  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  him.  AVomen  are 
LESS  offended  with  men,  in  part,  from  the  vicious 
habits  of  men,  and,  in  part,  from  the  difference 
of  bodily  constitution.  Yet,  still,  to  a  pure  and 
truly  loving  woman  this  must  be  a  painful 
thought.  That  he  should  struggle  with  and 
overcome  ambition;  desire  of  fortune,  superior 
beauty,  etc.,  or  with  objectless  desire  of  any 
kind,  is  pleasing,  but  not  that  he  has  struggled 
with  positive,  ajapropriated  desire,  that  is,  desire 
with  an  object.  Love,  in  short,  requires  an 
absolute  peace  and  harmony  between  all  parts  of 
human  nature,  such  as  it  is ;  and  it  is  offended 
by  any  irar,  though  the  battle  shoidd  be  decided 
in  favor  of  the  worthier.  This  is,  perhaps,  the 
final  cause  of  the  rarity  of  true  love,  and  the 
efficient  and  immediate  cause  of  its  difficulty. 
Ours  is  a  life  of  jarobation.  We  are  to  contem- 
plate and  obey  duty  for  its  own  sake,  and  in 
order  to  do  this,  we,  in  our  present  imperfect 
state  of  being,  must  see  it  not  merely  abstracted 
from  but  in  direct  opposition  to  the  wish^  the 
inclination.  Having  perfected  this,  the  highest 
possibility  of  human  nature,  man  may  then  with 
safety  harmonize  all  his  being  with  this  —  he 
may  love.  To  perform  duties  absolutely  from 
the  sense  of  duty  is  the  ideal  which,  perhaps,  no 
human  being  ever  can  arrive  at,  but  which  every 
human  being  ought  to  try  to  draw  near  unto. 
This  is,  in  the  only  wise,  and  verily  in  a  most 
sublime  sense,  to  see  God  face  to  face,  which, 
alas !  it  seems  too  true  that  no  man  can  do  and 
live^  that  is,  a  human  life.  It  would  become 
119 


ANIMA  POET^ 

incompatible  with  his  organization,  or  rather, 
it  would  transmute  it,  and  the  process  of  that 
transmutation,  to  the  senses  of  other  men,  would 
be  called  death.  Even  as  to  the  caterpillar,  in 
all  probability  the  caterpillar  dies,  and  he  either, 
which  is  most  probable,  does  not  see  (or,  at  aU 
events,  does  not  see  the  connection  between  the 
caterpillar  and)  the  butterfly,  the  beautiful  Psyche 
of  the  Greeks. 

HAPPi-  Those  who  in  this  life  love  in  perfection,  if 

MAM  such  there  be,  in  proportion  as  their  love  has 
PERFECT  jjQ  struggles,  see  God  darkly  and  through  a  veil. 
For  when  duty  and  pleasure  are  absolutely  coin- 
cident, the  very  nature  of  our  organization  ne- 
cessitates that  duty  will  be  contemplated  as  the 
symbol  of  pleasure,  instead  of  pleasure  being  (as 
in  a  future  life  we  have  faith  it  will  be)  the 
symbol  of  duty.  For  herein  lies  the  distinction 
between  human  and  angelic  happiness.  Hu- 
manly happy  I  call  him  who  in  enjoyment  finds 
his  duty ;  angelically  happy  he  who  seeks  and 
finds  his  duty  in  enjoyment. 

Happiness  in  general  may  be  defined,  not  the 
aggregate  of  pleasurable  sensations,  —  for  this  is 
either  a  dangerous  error  and  the  creed  of  sen- 
sualists, or  else  a  mere  translation  or  wordy 
paraphrase,  —  but  the  state  of  that  person  who, 
in  order  to  enjoy  his  nature  in  the  highest  man- 
ifestation of  conscious  feeling,  has  no  need  of 
doing  wrong,  and  who,  in  order  to  do  right,  is 
under  no  necessity  of  abstaining  from  enjoy- 
ment. 

[  Vide  Life  of  S.  T.  C,  by  James  Gillman, 
1838,  pp.  176-178.] 

120 


ANIMA   POET.E 
Thought  and  reality  are,  as  it  were,  two  dis-  thoi-ght 

AM) 
THINGS 


tinct  corresponding  sounds,  of  which  no  man  can  '^^'^' 


TION 


say  positively  which  is  the  voice  and  which  the 
echo. 

Oh,  the  beautifid  fountain  or  natural  well  at 
Upper  Stowey  !  The  images  of  the  weeds  which 
hung  down  from  its  sides  appear  as  plants  gTow- 
ing  up,  straight  and  upright,  among  the  water- 
weeds  that  really  grow  from  the  bottom  of  the 
well,  and  so  vivid  was  the  image  that  for  some 
moments,  and  not  till  after  I  had  disturbed  the 
water,  did  I  perceive  that  their  roots  were  not 
neighbors,  and  they  side -by -side  companions. 
So  ever,  then  I  said,  —  so  are  the  happy  man's 
thoughts  and  things  [or  in  the  language  of  the 
modern  philosophers]  his  ideas  and  impressions. 

The  two  characteristics  which  I  have  most  ob-  supersti- 
served  in  Roman  Catholic  mummery  processions, 
baj^tism,  etc.,  are,  first,  the  immense  noise  and 
jingle-jingle  as  if  to  frighten  away  the  dasmon 
common  sense ;  and,  secondly,  the  unmoved,  stu- 
pid, uninterested  faces  of  the  conjurers.  I  have 
noticed  no  exception.  Is  not  the  very  nature  of 
superstition  in  general,  as  being  utterly  sensuous, 
cold  except  where  it  is  sensual  ?  Hence  the 
older  form  of  idolatry,  as  displayed  in  the  Greek 
mythology,  was,  in  some  sense,  even  preferable 
to  the  popish.  For  whatever  life  did  and  could 
exist  in  superstition  it  brought  forward  and  sanc- 
tified in  its  rites  of  Bacchus,  Venus,  etc.  The 
papist  by  pretence  of  suppression  wards  and  de- 
naturalizes. In  the  pagan  [ritual,  superstition] 
burnt  with  a  bright  flame ;  in  the  popish  it  con- 
sumes the  soul  with  a  smothered  fire  that  stinks 
121 


ANIMA  POET^ 

in  darkness  and  smoulders  like  gum  that  burns 
but  is  incapable  of  light. 


ILLUSION  At  the  Treasury,  La  Valetta,  Malta,  in  the 
luidiiight,  room  the  windows  of  which  directly  face  the  Pi- 
1805  ^^'  azzas  and  vast  saloon  built  for  the  archives  and 
Library  and  now  used  as  the  Gari'ison  Ballroom, 
sitting  at  one  corner  of  a  large  parallelogram  ta- 
ble well  littered  with  books,  in  a  red  armchair,  at 
the  other  corner  of  which  (diagonally)  J  /" 

Mr.  Dennison  had  been  sitting ;  he  and  I  hav- 
ing conversed  for  a  long  time,  he  bade  me  good- 
night, and  retired.  I,  meaning  to  retire,  too, 
however,  sunk  for  five  minutes  or  so  into  a  doze, 
and  on  suddenly  awaking  up  I  saw  him  as  dis- 
tinctly sitting  in  the  chair  as  I  had,  really,  some 
ten  minutes  before.  I  was  startled,  and  thinking 
of  it,  sunk  into  a  second  doze,  out  of  which  awak- 
ing as  before  I  saw  again  the  same  appearance ;  not 
more  distinct  indeed,  but  more  of  his  form  ;  for 
at  the  first  time  I  had  seen  only  his  face  and 
bust,  but  now  I  saw  as  much  as  I  could  have 
seen  if  he  had  been  really  there.  The  appear- 
ance was  very  nearly  that  of  a  person  seen 
through  thin  smoke  distinct  indeed,  but  yet  a 
sort  of  distinct  shape  and  color,  with  a  dimin- 
ished sense  of  substantiality  —  like  a  face  in  a 
clear  stream.  My  nerves  had  been  violently 
agitated  yesterday  morning  by  the  attack  of 
three  dogs  as  I  was  mounting  the  steps  of  Cap- 
tain Pasley's  door  —  two  of  them  savage  Bed- 
ouins, who  wounded  me  in  the  calf  of  my  left  leg. 
I  have  noted  this  down,  not  three  minutes  having 
intervened  since  the  illusion  took  place.  Often 
and  often  I  have  had  similar  experiences,  and, 
122 


ANIMA   POETiE 

therefore,  resolved  to  write  down  the  particulars 
whenever  any  new  instance  should  occur,  as  a 
weapon  against  superstition,  and  an  explanation 
of  ghosts — Banquo  in  "Macbeth"  the  very 
same  thing.  I  once  told  a  lady  the  reason  why  I 
did  not  believe  in  the  existence  of  ghosts,  etc., 
was  that  I  had  seen  too  many  of  them  myself. 
N.  B.  There  were  on  the  table  a  common  black 
wine-bottle,  a  decanter  of  water,  and,  between 
these,  one  of  the  half-gallon  glass  flasks  which 
Sir  G.  Beaumont  had  given  me  (four  of  these 
full  of  port),  the  cork  in,  covered  with  leather, 
and  having  a  white  plated  ring  on  the  top.  I  men- 
tion this  because  since  I  wrote  the  former  pages, 
on  blinking  a  bit  a  third  time,  and  opening  my 
eyes,  I  clearly  detected  that  this  high-shouldered 
hypochondriacal  bottle-man  had  a  great  share  in 
producing  the  effect.  The  metamorijhosis  was 
clearly  beginning,  though  I  snapped  the  spell  be- 
fore it  had  assumed  a  recognizable  form.  The 
red-leather  armchair  was  so  placed  at  the  corner 

that  the  flask  was  exactly  between  me  and  it 

and  the  lamp  being  close  to  my  corner  of  the 
large  table,  and  not  giving  much  light,  the  chair 
was  rather  obscure,  and  the  brass  nails  where  the 
leather  was  fastened  to  the  outward  wooden  rim 
reflecting  the  light  more  copiously  were  seen  al- 
most for  themselves.  What  if  instead  of  imme- 
diately checking  the  sight,  and  then  pleased  with 
it  as  a  philosophical  case,  I  had  been  frightened, 
and  encouraged  it,  and  my  understanding  had 
joined  its  vote  to  that  of  my  senses  ? 

My  own  shadow,  too,  on  the  wall  not  far  from 
Mr.  D.'s  chair  —  the  white  paper,  the  sheet  of 
Harbor  Reports  lying  s]n'ead  out  on  the  table  on 
123 


ANIMA   POET.E 

the  other  side  of  the  bottles  — Influence  of  mere 
color,  influence  of  shape  —  wonderful  coalescence 
of  scattered  colors  at  distances,  and,  then,  all  go- 
ing to  some  one  shape,  and  the  modification! 
Likewise  I  am  more  convinced  by  repeated  obser- 
vation that,  perhaps,  always  in  a  very  minute  de- 
gree but  assuredly  in  certain  states  and  postures 
of  the  eye,  as  in  drowsiness  ;  in  the  state  of  the 
brain  and  nerves  after  distress  or  agitation,  es- 
pecially if  it  had  been  accompanied  by  weei)ing, 
and  in  many  others,  we  see  our  own  faces,  and 
project  the'm  according  to  the  distance  given  them 
by  the  degree  of  indistinctness  —  that  this  may 
occasion  in  the  highest  degree  the  Wraith  (vide 
a  hundred  Scotch  stories,  but,  better  than  all, 
Wordsworth's  most  wonderful  and  admirable 
poem  "  Peter  Bell,"  when  he  sees  his  own  figure) ; 
and  still  oftener  that  it  facilitates  the  formation 
of  a  human  face  out  of  some  really  present  object, 
and  from  the  alteration  of  the  distance  among 
other  causes  never  suspected  as  the  occasion  and 
substratum.  S.  T.  C. 

N.  B.  This  is  a  valuable  note,  re-read  by  me, 
Tuesday  morning,  May  14. 

[Compare  Table  Talk  for  January  3  and  May 
1,  1823,  Bell  &  Co.,  1884,  pp.  20,  31-33.  See, 
too,  The  Friend,  First  Landing-Place  Essay,  iii., 
Coleridge! &  Works,  Harj^er  &  Brothers,  1853,  ii. 
134-137. 

FOR  THE         Mem.     Always  to  bear  in  mind  that  profound 

iN^AB-"^'^  sentence    of   Leibnitz    that    men's    intellectual 

sexce"      errors    consist  chiefly   in  denying.     What  they 

affirm  with  feeling  is,  for  the  most  part,  right  — 

124 


ANIMA  POET.E 

if  it  be  a  real  affirmation,  and  not  affirmative  in 
form,  negative  in  reality.  As,  for  instance, 
when  a  man  praises  the  French  stage,  meaning 
and  implying  his  dislike  of  Shakspere  [and  the 
Elizabethan  dramatists]. 

"  Facts  —  stubborn  facts !  None  of  your 
theory  !  "  A  most  entertaining  and  instructive 
essay  might  be  written  on  this  text,  and  the 
sooner  the  better.  Trace  it  from  the  most  ab- 
surd credulity  —  e.  </.,  in  Fracastorius'  De  Sym- 
patJiia,  cap.  i.,  and  the  Alchemy  Book  —  even 
to  that  of  your  modern  agriculturists,  relating 
their  own  facts  and  swearing  against  each  other 
like  ships'  crews.  O  !  it  is  the  relation  of  the 
facts  —  not  the  facts,  friend ! 

Speculative  men  are  wont  to  be  condemned 
by  the  general.  But  who  more  speculative  than 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  and  Ac,  even  he,  brought  in 
the  potato  to  Europe.  Good  heavens  !  let  me 
never  eat  a  roasted  potato  without  dwelling  on 
it,  and  detailing  its  train  of  consequences. 
Likewise,  too,  dubious  to  the  philosopher,  but 
to  be  clapped  chorally  by  the  commercial  world, 
he,  this  mere  wild  speculatist,  introduced  to- 
bacco. 

For  a  nation  to  make  peace  only  because  it  is 
tired  of  war,  and,  as  it  were,  in  order  just  to  take 
breath,  is  in  direct  subversion  of  the  end  and 
object  of  the  war  which  was  its  sole  justification. 
'T  is  like  a  poor  way-sore  foot-traveller  getting  up 
behind  a  coach  that  is  going  the  contrary  way 
to  his. 

125 


ANIMA   POETiE 

The  eye  hath  a  twofokl  power.  It  is,  verily, 
a  window  through  which  yon  not  only  look  out 
of  the  house,  but  can  look  into  it  too.  A  states- 
man and  diplomatist  should  for  this  reason 
always  wear  spectacles. 

Worldly  men  gain  their  j^urposes  with  worldly 
men  by  that  instinctive  belief  in  sincerity. 
Hence  (nothing  immediately  and  passionately 
contradicting  it)  the  effect  of  the  "  with  un- 
feigned esteem,"  "  entire  devotion,"  and  the 
other  smooth  phrases  in  letters,  all,  in  short, 
that  sea-officers  call  oil,  and  of  which  they,  with 
all  their  bluntness,  well  understand  the  use. 

The  confusion  of  metaphor  with  reality  is  one 
of  the  fountains  of  the  many-headed  Nile  of 
credulity,  which,  overflowing  its  banks,  covers 
the  world  with  miscreatious  and  reptile  mon- 
sters, and  feeds  by  its  many  mouths  the  sea  of 
blood. 

A  ready  command  of  a  limited  number  of 
words  is  but  a  playing  cat-cradle  dexterously 
with  language. 

Plain  contra-reasoning  may  be  compared  with 
boxing  with  fists.  Controversy  with  boxing  is 
the  cestus,  that  is,  the  lead-loaded  glove,  like  the 
pugilists  in  the  ^neid.  But  the  stiletto !  the 
envenomed  stiletto  is  here.  What  worse  ?  — 
(a  Germanism).  Yes  !  the  poisoned  Italian  glove 
of  mock  friendship. 

The  more  I  reflect,  the  more  exact  and   close 
126 


appears  to  me  the  analogy  between  a  watch  and 
watches,  and  the  conscience  and  consciences  of 
men,  on  the  one  hand,  and  that  between  the  sun 
and  motion  of  the  heavenly  bodies  in  general 
and  the  reason  and  goodness  of  the  Supreme  on 
the  other.  Never  goes  quite  right  any  one,  no 
two  go  exactly  the  same;  they  derive  their 
dignity  and  use  as  being  substitutes  and  expo- 
nents of  heavenly  motions,  but  still,  in  a  thou- 
sand instances,  they  are  and  must  be  our  instruc- 
tors by  which  we  must  act,  in  practice  presuming 
a  coincidence  while  theoretically  we  are  aware 
of  incalculable  variations. 

One  lifts  up  one's  eyes  to  heaven,  as  if  to  seek 
there  what  one  had  lost  on  earth  —  eyes, 

Whose  half-beholdings  through  unsteady  tears 
Gave  shape,  hue,  distance  to  the  inward  dream. 

Schiller,  disgusted  with  Kotzebuisms,  deserts  great 
from  Shakspere!     What!    cannot  we  condemn  cKiTEmo.v, 
a  counterfeit   and  yet  remain  admirers  of    the  ^"^  ^"'^^ 

•     •        1  o        mi   •       •  nr,     •  TIONAL 

orignial  r  Ihis  is  a  sufficient  proof  that  the  first  worth 
acbniration  was  not  sound,  or  founded  on  sound 
distinct  perceptions,  [or  if  sprung  from]  a  sound 
feeling,  yet  clothed  and  manifested  to  the  con- 
sciousness by  false  ideas.  And  now  the  French 
stage  is  to  be  re-introduced.  O  Germany! 
Germany!  why  this  endless  rage  for  novelty? 
Why  this  endless  looking  out  of  thyself  ?  But 
stop,  let  me  not  fall  into  the  pit  against  which 
I  was  about  to  warn  others.  Let  me  not  con- 
found the  discriminating  character  and  genius 
of  a  nation  with  the  conflux  of  its  individuals 
in  cities  and  reviews.  Let  England  be  Sir 
127 


ANIMA   POETJE 

Philip  Sidney,  Shakspere,  Milton,  Bacon,  Har- 
rington, Swift,  Wordsworth ;  and  never  let  the 
names  of  Darwin,  Johnson,  Ilirnie,  fur  it  over. 
If  these,  too,  must  be  England  let  them  be 
another  England ;  or,  rather,  let  the  first  be  old 
England,  the  spiritual,  Platonic  old  England ; 
and  the  second,  with  Locke  at  the  head  of  the 
philosophers  and  Pope  [at  the  head]  of  the 
poets,  together  with  the  long  list  of  Priestleys, 
Paleys,  Hay  leys,  Darwins,  Mr.  Pitts,  Dundasses, 
etc.,  etc.,  be  the  representatives  of  commer- 
cial Great  Britian.  These  have  [indeed]  their 
merits,  but  are  as  alien  to  me  as  the  Manda- 
rin philosophers  and  poets  of  China.  Even  so 
Leibnitz,  Lessing,  Voss,  Kant,  shall  be  Germany 
to  me,  let  whatever  coxcombs  rise  up,  and  shrill 
it  away  in  the  grasshopper  vale  of  reviews. 
And  so  shall  Dante,  Ariosto,  Giordano  Bruno, 
be  my  Italy ;  Cervantes  my  Spain  ;  and  O  !  that 
I  could  find  a  France  for  my  love.  But  spite 
of  Pascal,  Madame  Guyon  and  Moliere,  France 
is  my  Babylon,  the  mother  of  whoredoms  in 
morality,  philosophy,  and  taste.  The  French 
themselves  feel  a  foreignness  in  these  writers. 
How  indeed  is  it  possible  at  once  to  love  Pascal 
and  Voltaire  ? 

AN  INTEL-  With  any  distinct  remembrance  of  a  past 
puRGA-  lif®  there  could  be  no  fear  of  death  as  death, 
TORY         no  idea  even  of  death  !     Now,  in  the  next  state, 

luesday  '    ^  _       ' 

morning,    to  meet   with   the   Luthers,  Miltons,  Leibnitzs, 

1805     '      Bernouillis,  Bonnets,    Shaksperes,   etc.,   and   to 

live  a  longer  and  better  life,  the  good  and  wise 

entirely  among  the  good  and  wise,  might  serve 

as  a  step  to  break  the  abruptness  of  an  imme- 

128 


ANIMA  POETyE 

diate  Heaven  ?  But  it  must  be  a  human  life ; 
and  thous'h  the  faith  in  a  hereafter  would  be 
more  firm,  more  undoubting,  yet,  still,  it  must 
not  be  a  sensuous  remembrance  of  a  death  passed 
over.  No  !  [it  would  be]  something  like  a  dream 
that  you  had  not  died,  but  had  been  taken  off ; 
in  short,  the  real  events  with  the  obscurity  of  a 
dream,  accompanied  with  the  notion  that  you 
had  never  died,  but  that  death  was  yet  to  come. 
As  a  man  who,  having  walked  in  his  sleep,  by 
rapid  openings  of  his  eyes  —  too  rapid  to  be 
observable  by  others  or  rememberable  by  him- 
self —  sees  and  remembers  the  whole  of  his  path, 
mixing  it  with  many  fancies  ah  intra^  and,  awak- 
ing, remembers,  but  yet  as  a  dream. 

'T  is  one  source  of  mistakes  concerning  the  of  first 
merits  of  poems,  that  to  those  read  in  youth  ^°^'^^ 
men  attribute  all  that  praise  which  is  due  to 
poetry  in  general,  merely  considered  as  select 
language  in  metre.  (Little  children  should  not 
be  taught  verses,  in  my  opinion ;  better  not  to 
let  them  set  eyes  on  verse  till  they  ai-e  ten  or 
eleven  years  old.)  Now,  poetry  produces  two 
kinds  of  pleasure,  one  for  each  of  the  two 
master-movements  and  impulses  of  man,  —  the 
gratification  of  the  love  of  variety,  and  the 
gratification  of  the  love  of  uniformity ;  and  that 
by  a  recurrence  delightful  as  a  painless  and  yet 
exciting  act  of  memory  —  tiny  breezelets  of  sur- 
prise, each  one  destroying  the  ripplets  which 
the  former  had  made,  yet  all  together  keeping 
the  surface  of  the  mind  in  a  bright  dimple-smile. 
So,  too,  a  hatred  of  vacancy  is  reconciled  with 
the  love  of  rest.  These  and  other  causes  often 
129 


ANIMA  POET^ 

make  [a  first  acquaintance  with]  poetry  an  over- 
powering delight  to  a  lad  of  feeling,  as  I  have 
heard  Poole  relate  of  himself  respecting  Edwin 
and  Angelina.  But  so  it  would  be  with  a  man 
bred  up  in  a  wilderness  by  Unseen  Beings,  who 
should  yet  converse  and  discourse  rationally 
with  him  —  how  beautiful  would  not  the  first 
other  man  appear  whom  he  saw  and  knew  to  be 
a  man  by  the  resemblance  to  his  own  image 
seen  in  the  clear  stream ;  and  would  he  not,  in 
like  manner,  attribute  to  the  man  all  the  divine 
attributes  of  humanity,  though,  haply,  he  should 
be  a  very  ordinary,  or  even  a  most  ugly  man, 
compared  with  a  hundred  others  ?  Many  of  us 
who  have  felt  this  with  respect  to  women  have 
been  bred  up  where  few  are  to  be  seen ;  and  I 
acknowledge  that,  both  in  persons  and  in  poems, 
it  is  well  on  the  whole  that  we  should  retain  our 
first  love,  though,  alike  in  both  cases,  evils  have 
happened  as  the  consequence. 

THE  MAD-       The   excellent   fable  of   the   madden  ins:   rain 
KAiN  I  have  found  in  Draj^ton's  "  Moon  Calf,"  most 

^05^*  ^'  naiserably  marred  in  the  telling !  vastly  inferior 
to  Benedict  Fay's  Latin  exposition  of  it,  and 
that  is  no  great  thing.  Vide  his  Lucretian 
Poem  on  the  Newtonian  System.  Never  was  a 
finer  tale  for  a  satire,  or,  rather,  to  conclude  a 
long  satirical  poem  of  five  or  six  hundred  lines. 

[For  excellent  use  of  this  fable,  see  The 
Friend^  No.  1,  June  9,  1809,  Coleridge's 
Worhs,  Harper  and  Brothers,  ii.  21,  22.] 

Pasley    remarked     last    night    (2d    August, 
1805),  and   with   great   precision  and  original- 
130 


ANIMA  POET^ 

ity,  that   men   themselves,  in   the   present   age,  senti- 
were  not  so  much  degraded  as  their  sentiments,  below 
This  is  most  true !  almost  all  men  nowadays  act  ^io^^ls 
and  feel  more  nobly  than  they  think  —  yet  still 
the  vile,  cowardly,  selfish,  calculating  ethics  of 
Paley,  Priestley,  Locke,  and  other  Erastians  do 
woefully  influence  and  determine  our  course  of 
action. 


O  the  complexities  of  the  ravel  produced  by  time  and 
time  struggling  with  eternity !  a  and  6  are  dif-  ^■''^^^'"■''' 
ferent,  and  eternity  or  duration  makes  them  one 
—  this  we  call   modification  —  the    principle  of 
all  greatness  in  finite  beings,  the  principle  of  all 
contradiction  and  absurdity. 

It  is  worthy  notice  (shown  in  the  phrase  "  I  the  pas- 
envy    him    such   and   such   a   thing,"    meaning  the  mot 

PKOPRE 

August  3, 


only,  "I  regret  I  cannot  share  with  him,  have 
the  same  as  he,  without  depriving  him  of  it,  or  i^05 
any  part  of  it"),  the  instinctive  passion  in  the 
mind  for  a  one  word  to  express  one  act  of  feeling 
—  [one],  that  is,  in  which,  however  complex  in 
reality,  the  mind  is  conscious  of  no  discursion 
and  synthesis  a  posteriori.  On  this  instinct  rest 
all  the  improvements  (and,  on  the  habits  formed 
by  this  instinct  and  [the]  knowledge  of  these 
improvements.  Vanity  rears  all  the  Apuleian, 
Apollonian,  etc.,  etc.,  corruptions)  of  style. 
Even  so  with  our  Johnson. 

There    are    bulls    of    action    equally    as    of  bulls  of 
thought,   [for]   (not   to  allude   to   the  story   of '^''''"''' 
the  Irish  laborer  who  laid  his  comrade  all  his 
wages    that   he  would    not  carry  him  down   in 
131 


.ANIMA   POETiE 

his  hod  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  a  high 
house,  down  the  ladder)  the  feeling  of  vindic- 
tive honor  in  duelling,  and  the  feudal  revenges 
anterior  to  duelling,  formed  a  true  bull ;  for 
they  were  superstitious  Christians,  knew  it  was 
wrong,  and  yet  knew  it  was  right  —  they  would 
be  damned  deservedly  if  they  did,  and,  if  they 
did  not,  they  thought  themselves  deserving  of 
being  damned. 

psEUDo-  The  pseudo-poets  Campbell,  Rogers,  etc.,  both 
by  their  writings  and  moral  character  tend  to 
bring  poetry  into  disgrace,  and,  but  that  men 
in  general  are  the  slaves  of  the  same  wretched 
infirmities,  they  would  [set  their  seal  on  this 
disgrace],  and  it  would  be  well.  The  true  poet 
could  not  smother  the  sacred  fire  ("his  heart 
burnt  within  him  and  he  spake"),  and  wisdom 
would  be  justified  by  her  children.  But  the 
false  poet,  —  that  is,  the  no-poet,  —  finding  poetry 
in  contempt  among  the  many,  of  whose  praise, 
whatever  he  may  affirm,  he  is  alone  ambitious, 
would  be  prevented  from  scribbling. 


POETS 


PLACES 


LANDING-  The  progress  of  human  intellect  from  earth  to 
heaven  is  not  a  Jacob's  ladder,  but  a  geometri- 
cal staircase  with  five  or  more  landing-places. 
That  on  which  we  stand  enables  us  to  see  clearly 
and  count  all  below  us,  while  that  or  those  above 
us  are  so  transparent  for  our  eyes  that  they 
appear  the  canopy  of  heaven.  We  do  not  see 
them,  and  believe  ourselves  on  the  highest. 

["Among    my    earliest    impressions    I    still 
distinctly   remember  that  of   my  first  entrance 
into   the    mansion   of    a    neighboring    baronet, 
132 


ANIMA   POET^ 

awefully  known  to  me  by  the  name  of  the 
Great  House  [Escot,  near  Ottery  St.  Mary, 
Devon].  .  .  .  Beyond  all  other  objects  I  was 
most  struck  with  the  magnificeut  staircase,  re- 
lieved at  well-proportioned  intervals  by  spacious 
landing-places.  .  .  .  My  readers  will  find  no 
difficulty  in  translating  these  forms  of  the  out- 
ward senses  into  their  intellectual  analogies,  so 
as  to  understand  the  purport  of  Tlie  Friend's 
Landing-Places.  The  Friend,  "  The  Landing- 
Place,"  Essay  iv.,  Coleridge's  Works^  Harper  & 
Brothers,  1853,  ii.  137,  138.] 

In  the   Threnm  of  funeral  songs  and  elegies  william 
of   our   old   poets,  I   am    often    impressed  with  JJJ!*^^^^'' 
the  idea  of  their  resemblance  to  hired  weepers  t)TTEKY 
in  Rome  and  among  the  Irish,  where   he  who 
howled   the   loudest   and   most  wildly  was  the 
most   capital  mourner  and  was  at  the  head  of 
his  trade.     So  [too]  see  William  Browne's  elegy 
on  Prince  Henry  (^Britt.  Past.  Songs,  v.),  whom, 
perhajjs,  he  never  spoke  to.     Yet  he  is  a  dear 
fellow,  and    I  love    him,  that  W.  Browne  who 
died  at  Ottery,  and  with  whose  family  my  own 
is  united,  or,  rather,  connected  and  acquainted. 

[Colonel  James  Coleridge,  the  poet's  eldest 
surviving  brother,  and  Henry  Langford  Browne, 
of  Combe-Satchfield,  married  sisters,  Frances  and 
Dorothy  Taylor,  whose  mother  was  one  of  five 
co-heiresses  of  Richard  Duke,  of  Otterton. 

It  is  uncertain  whether  a  William  Browne,  of 
Ottery  St.  Mary,  who  died  in  1645,  was  the 
author  of  The  Shephei'd' s  Pipe  and  Britannia^s 
Pastorals.  Two  beautiful  inscriptions  on  a 
tomb  in  St.  Stephen's  Chapel  in  the  collegiate 
133 


A  STEP  IN 
CHOOS- 
ING A 
FRIEND  ■■ 


ANIMA  POET.E 

church  o£  St.  Mary  Ottery  were,  in  Southey's 
opinion  (doubtless  at  Coleridge's  suggestion), 
composed  by  the  poet  William  Browne.] 

ASCEND  God  knows !  that  at  times  I  derive  a  com- 
fort even  from  my  infirmities,  my  sins  of  omis- 
sion and  commission,  in  the  joy  of  the  deep 
TALMUD  feeling  of  the  opposite  virtues  in  the  two  or 
three  whom  I  love  in  my  heart  of  hearts.  Sharp, 
therefore,  is  the  pain  when  I  find  faults  in  these 
friends  opposite  to  my  virtues.  I  find  no  com- 
fort in  the  notion  of  average,  for  I  wish  to  love 
even  more  than  to  be  beloved,  and  am  so  haunted 
by  the  conscience  of  my  many  failings  that  I 
find  an  unmixed  pleasure  in  esteeming  and  ad- 
miring, but,  as  the  recipient  of  esteem  or  admi- 
ration, I  feel  as  a  man,  whose  good  dispositions 
are  still  alive,  feels  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  dar- 
ling property  on  a  doubtful  title.  My  instincts 
are  so  far  dog-like  that  I  love  beings  superior 
to  myself  better  than  my  equals.  But  the 
notion  of  inferiority  is  so  painful  to  me  that 
I  never,  in  common  life,  feel  a  man  my  inferior 
except  by  after-reflection.  What  seems  vanity 
in  me  is  in  great  part  attributable  to  this  feeling. 
But  of  this  hereafter.  I  will  cross-examine  my- 
self. 


TION  TO 
POSTERITY 


A  cAu-  There   are   actions   which   left   undone  mark 

the  greater  man ;  but  to  have  done  them  does 
not  imply  a  bad  or  mean  man.  Such,  for  in- 
stance, are  Martial's  compliments  of  Domitian. 
So  may  we  praise  Milton  without  condemning 
Dryden.  By  the  bye,  we  are  all  too  apt  to  forget 
that  contemporaries  have  not  the  same  lolioleness 
134 


ANIMA  POET^ 

and  fixedness  in  their  notions  of  persons'  char- 
acters that  we  their  posterity  have.  They  can 
hope  and  fear  and  believe  and  disbelieve.  We 
make  up  an  ideal  which,  like  the  fox  or  lion  in 
the  fable,  never  changes. 

I  have  several  times  seen  the  stiletto  and  the  for  the 

.       p    .^  1       .  "  SOOTHER 

rosary  come  out  oi  the  same  pocket.  I^-  ab- 

sence " 

A  man  who  marries  for  love  is  like  a  frog  who 
leaps  into  a  well.  He  has  plenty  of  water,  but 
then  he  cannot  get  out. 

[Not  until  national  ruin  is  imminent  will  Min- 
isters contemplate  the  approach  of  national  dan- 
ger] ;  as  if  Judgment  were  overwhelmed  like 
Belgic  towns  in  the  sea,  and  showed  its  towers 
only  at  dead-low  water. 

The  superiority  of  the  genus  to  the  particular 
may  be  illustrated  by  music.  How  infinitely 
more  perfect  in  passion  and  its  transition  than 
even  poetry,  and  poetry  again  than  painting! 
And  yet  how  marvellous  is  genius  in  all  its 
implements ! 

[Compare  Table  Talk,  July  6,  1833,  H.  N. 
C,  footnote.  Bell  &  Co.,  1884,  p.  240.] 

Those  only  who  feel  no  originality,  no  con- 
sciousness of  having  received  their  thoughts 
and  opinions  from  immediate  inspiration,  are 
anxious  to  be  thought  original.  The  certainty, 
the  feeling,  that  he  is  right  is  enough  for  the 
man  of  genius,  and  he  rejoices  to  find  his  opin- 
135 


ANIMA  POET^ 

ions  plumed  and  winged  with  the  authority  of 
several  forefathers. 

The  water-lily,  in  the  midst  of  the  lake,  is 
equally  refreshed  by  the  rain,  as  the  sponge 
on  the  sandy  seashore. 


In  the  next  world  the  souls  of  dull  good  men 
serve  for  bodies  to  the  souls  of  the  Shaksperes 
and  Miltons,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  centu- 
ries, when  the  soul  can  do  without  its  vehicle, 
the  bodies  will  by  advantage  of  good  company 
have  refined  themselves  into  souls  fit  to  be 
clothed  with  like  bodies. 

How  much  better  it  would  be,  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  to  have  everything  that  is,  and  by  the 
spirit  of  English  freedom  must  be  legal,  legal 
and  open !  The  rejDorting,  for  instance,  should 
be  done  by  shorthandists  appointed  by  Govern- 
ment. There  are,  I  see,  weighty  argmnents 
on  the  other  side,  but  are  they  not  to  be  got 
over? 

Co-arctation  is  not  a  bad  phrase  for  that  nar- 
rowing in  of  breadth  on  both  sides,  as  in  my  in- 
terpolation of  Schiller. 

"  And  soon 
The  narrowing  line  of  daylight  that  ran  after 
The  closing  door  was  gone." 

Piccolominl,  ii.  sc.  4,  P.  W.,  p.  257. 

In  order  not  to  be  baffled  by  the  infinite  ascent 
of  the  heavenly  angels,  the  devil  feigned  that  all 
136 


ANIMA  POETiE 

(the  TayaOov^  that  is,  God  himself  included)  sprang  the  devil 
from  nothing.     And  now  he  has  a  pretty  task  to  memory 
multiply,  without  paper  or  slate,  the  exact  num-  gi'^^J^'*^^ 
ber   of  all   the   animalcules,  and   the  eggs  and 
embryos  of  each  planet  by  some  other,  and  the 
product  by  a  third,  and  that  product  by  a  fourth ; 
and  he  is  not  to  stop  till  he  has  gone  through 
the  planets  of  half  the  universe,  the  number  of 
which   being   infinite,    it   is   considered    by   the 
devils  in  general  a  great  puzzle.     A  dream  in  a 
doze. 

A  bodily  substance,  an  unborrowed  Self  —  the  sun 
God  in  God  immanent !  The  Eternal  Word  !  —  eousness* 
that  goes  forth  yet  remains !  Crescent  and  Full 
and  Wane,  yet  ever  entire  and  one,  it  dawns,  and 
sets,  and  crowns  the  height  of  heaven.  At  the 
same  time,  the  dawning  and  setting  sun,  at  the 
same  time  the  zodiac  —  while  each,  in  its  own 
hour,  boasts  and  beholds  the  exclusive  Presence, 
a  peculiar  Orb,  each  the  great  Traveller's  inn, 
yet  stiU  the  unmoving  Sun  — 

Great  genial  Agent  in  all  finite  sonls ; 
And  by  that  action  puts  on  finiteness, 
Absolute  Infinite,  whose  dazzling  robe 
Flows  in  rich  folds,  and  plays  in  shooting  haes 
Of  infinite  finiteness. 

I  was  standing  gazing  at  the  starry  heaven,  for  the 
and  said,  "  I  will  go  to  bed,  the  next  star  that  uf  ab-"'^" 
shoots."     Observe  this,  in  countino^   fixed  num-  ^ence  " 

^    '  ^        °  hyracuse, 

bers   previous    to  doinfj   anything,    and   deduce  Septem- 
from   man's   own    unconscious   acknowledgment 
man's  dependence  on  something  more  apparently 
137 


ANIMA  POET^E 

and  believedly  subject   to   regular   and  certain 
laws  than  his  own  will  and  reason. 

To  Wordsworth  in  the  progression  of  spirit, 
once  Simonides,  or  Empedocles,  or  both  in  one  — 

"  Oh !  that  my  spirit,  purged  by  death  of  its 
weaknesses,  which  are,  alas !  my  identity,  might 
flow  into  thine,  and  live  and  act  in  thee  and  be 
thine ! " 

Death,  first  of  all,  eats  of  the  Tree  of  Life  and 
becomes  immortal.  Describe  the  frightful  meta- 
morphosis. He  weds  the  Hamadryad  of  the 
Tree  [and  begets  a  twy-form]  progeny.  This  in 
the  manner  of  Dante. 

Sad,  drooping  children  of  a  wretched  parent 
are  those  yellowing  leaflets  of  a  broken  twig, 
broke  ere  its  June. 

We  are  not  inert  in  the  grave.  St.  Paul's 
corn  in  the  ground  proves  this  scripturally,  and 
the  growth  of  infants  in  their  sleep  by  natural 
analogy.  What,  then,  if  our  spiritual  growth  be 
in  proportion  to  the  length  and  depth  of  the 
sleep !  With  what  mysterious  grandeur  does 
not  this  thought  invest  the  grave,  and  how  poor 
compared  with  this  an  immediate  Paradise ! 

I  awake  and  find  my  beloved  asleep,  gaze 
upon  her  by  the  taper  that  feebly  illumines  the 
darkness,  then  fall  asleep  by  her  side  ;  and  we 
both  awake  together  for  good  and  all  in  the 
broad  daylight  of  heaven. 
138 


ANIMA  POET^ 

Forget  not  to  impress  as  often  and  as  man- 
ifoldly as  possible  the  totus  in  omni  parte  of 
Truth,  and  its  consequent  interdependence  on  co- 
operation, and,  vice  versa,  the  fragmentary  char- 
acter of  action,  and  its  absolute  dependence  on 
society,  a  majority,  etc.  The  blindness  to  this 
distinction  creates  fanaticism  on  one  side,  alarm 
and  ^prosecution  on  the  other.  Jacobins  or  sovd- 
gougers.  It  is  an  interesting  fact  or  fable  that 
the  stork  (the  emblem  of  filial  or  conjugal  piety) 
never  abides  in  a  monarchy. 

Commend  me  to  the  Irish  architect  who  took 
out  the  foundation  stone  to  repair  the  roof. 

Knox  and  the  other  reformers  were  Scopce  via- 
rum  —  that  is,  highway  besoms. 

The  Pine-Tree  blasted  at  the  top  was  applied 
by  Swift  to  himself  as  a  j)rophetic  emblem  of  his 
own  decay.  The  Chestnut  is  a  fine  shady  tree, 
and  its  wood  excellent,  were  it  not  that  it  dies 
away  at  the  heart  first.     Alas  !  poor  me ! 

Modern  poetry  is  characterized  by  the  poets'  taste 
anxiety   to  be   always   striking.     There   is   the  ^^ 


ETHICAL 


same  march  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets,  quality 
Claudian,  who  had  powers  to  have  been  anything 
—  observe  in  him  this  anxious,  craving  vanity  ! 
Every  line,  nay,  every  word,  stops,  looks  full  in 
your  face,  and  asks  and  hegs  for  praise  !  As  in 
a  Chinese  painting,  there  are  no  distances,  no 
perspective,  but  all  is  in  the  foreground  ;  and 
this  is  nothing  but  vanity.  I  am  pleased  to 
think  that,  when  a  mere  stripling,  I  had  formed 
139 


FOR 

POETIC 

LICENSE 


ANIMA  POET^ 

tlie  opinion  tliat  true  taste  was  virtue,  and  that 
bad  writing  was  bad  feeling. 

A  PLEA  The  desire   of   carrying  things   to   a   greater 

height  of  pleasure  and  admiration  than,  omnibus 
trutlnatis,  they  are  susceptible  of  is  one  great 
cause  of  the  corruption  of  poetry.  Both  to  un- 
derstand my  own  reasoning  and  to  communicate 
it,  ponder  on  Catullus'  hexameters  and  penta- 
meters, his  '■^ numine  ahusum  homines"  [Car- 
men Ixxvi.  4],  [and  similar  harsh  expressions]. 
It  is  not  whether  or  no  the  very  same  ideas,  ex- 
pressed with  the  very  same  force  and  the  very 
same  naturahiess  and  simplicity  in  the  versifi- 
cation of  Ovid  and  TibuUus,  would  not  be  still 
more  delightful  (though  even  that,  for  any  num- 
ber of  poems,  may  well  admit  a  doubt)  ;  but 
whether  it  is  possible  so  to  express  them,  and 
whether,  in  every  attempt,  the  result  has  not  been 
to  substitute  manner  for  matter,  and  point  that 
will  not  bear  reflection  (so  fine  that  it  breaks 
the  moment  you  try  it)  for  genuine  sense  and 
true  feeling,  and,  lastly,  to  confine  both  the  sub- 
jects, thoughts,  and  even  words  of  poetry  within 
a  most  beggarly  cordon.  N.  B.  The  same 
criticism  applies  to  Metastasio,  and,  in  Pope,  to 
his  quaintness,  perversion,  unnatural  metaphors, 
and,  still  more,  the  cold-blooded  use,  for  artifice 
or  connection,  of  language  justifiable  only  by  en- 
thusiasm and  passion. 


SON 


RICHARD-       I  confess  that  it  has  cost,  and  still  costs,  my 

philosophy  some  exertion  not  to  be  vexed  that 

I  must  admire,  ay,  greatly  admire,  Richardson. 

His  mind  is  so  very  vile  a  mind,  so  oozy,  hypo- 

140 


ANIMA  POET^ 

critical,  praise-mad,  canting,  envious,  concupis- 
cent !  But  to  understand  and  draw  Jam  would 
be  to  produce  a  work  almost  equal  to  Ms  own  ; 
and,  in  order  to  do  this,  "  down,  'proud  Heart, 
down "  (as  we  teach  little  children  to  say  to 
themselves,  bless  them  I),  all  hatred  down  !  and, 
instead  thereof,  charity,  calmness,  a  heart  fixed 
on  the  good  part,  though  the  understanding  is 
surveying  all.  Richardson  felt  truly  the  defect 
of  Fielding,  or  what  was  not  his  excellence,  and 
made  that  his  defect  —  a  trick  of  uncharitable- 
ness  often  played,  though  not  exclusively,  by 
contemporaries.  Fielding's  talent  was  observa- 
tion, not  meditation.  But  Richardson  was  not 
philosopher  enough  to  know  the  difference  — 
say,  rather,  to  understand  and  develop  it. 

O  there  are  some  natures  which  under  the  his  need 
most  cheerless,  all-threatening,  nothing-promising 
circumstances  can  draw  hope  from  the  invisible, 
as  the  tropical  trees  that,  in  the  sandy  desola- 
tion, produce  their  own  lidded  vessels  full  of  the 
waters  from  air  and  dew !  Alas  !  to  my  root 
not  a  drop  trickles  down  but  from  the  water- 
ing-pot of  immediate  friends.  And,  even  so,  it 
seems  much  more  a  sympathy  with  their  feeling 
rather  than  hope  of  my  own.  So  should  I  feel 
sorrow,  if  AUston's  mother,  whom  I  have  never 
seen,  were  to  die  ? 


OF  EX- 
TERNAL 
SOLACE 


CRITICISM 


Stoddart  passes  over  a  poem  as  one  of  those  minute 
tiniest  of  tiny  night-flies  runs  over  a  leaf,  casting 
its  shadow,  three  times  as  long  as  itself,  yet  only 
just   shading  one,   or   at  most  two  letters  at  a 
time. 

141 


ANIMA  POET^ 


A  maid  servant  of  Mrs.  Clarkson's  parents 
had  a  great  desire  to  hear  Dr.  Price,  and  accord- 
ingly attended  his  congregation.  On  her  return, 
being  asked,  "  Well,  what  do  you  think?  "  etc., 
"  Ai — i,"  replied  she,  "  there  was  neither  the 
poor  nor  the  Gospel."  Excellent  that  on  the 
fine  respectable  attendants  of  Unitarian  chapels, 
and  the  moonshine,  heartless  headwork  of  the 
sermons. 


A  DOCU- 
MENT 
HUMAIN 


The  mahogany  tables,  all,  but  especially  the 
large  dining-table,  [marked]  with  the  segments 
of  circles  (deep  according  to  the  passion  of  the 
dice-box  plunger),  chiefly  half-circles.  O  the 
anger  and  spite  with  which  many  have  been 
thrown !  It  is  trvdy  a  written  history  of  the 
fiendish  passion  of  gambling.  Oct.  12,  1806, 
Newmarket. 


The  odes  of  Pindar  (with  few  exceptions,  and 
these  chiefly  in  the  shorter  ones)  seem  by  inten- 
tion to  die  away  by  soft  gradations  into  a  lan- 
guid interest,  like  most  of  the  landscapes  of  the 
great  elder  painters.  Modern  ode-writers  have 
commonly  preferred  a  continued  rising  of  in- 
terest. 


"ONE 
MUSIC  AS 
BEFORE, 
BUT 
VASTER  " 


The  shattering  of  long  and  deep-rooted  asso- 
ciations always  places  the  mind  in  an  angry 
state,  and  even  when  our  own  understandings 
have  effected  the  revolution,  it  still  holds  good, 
only  we  apply  the  feeling  to  and  against  our 
former  faith  and  those  who  still  hold  it  —  [a 
tendency]  shown  in  modern  infidels.  Great 
good,  therefore,  of  such  revolution  as  alters,  not 
142 


ANIMA  POET^ 

by  exclusion,  but  by  an  enlargement  that  in- 
cludes the  former,  though  it  places  in  it  a  new 
point  of  view. 

After  the  formation  of  a  new  acquaintance,  to 
found,  by  some  weeks'  or  months'  unintermitted  *^^^'""'' 
communion,  worthy  of  all  our  esteem,  affection, 
and,  perhaps,  admiration,  an  intervening  ab- 
sence, whether  we  meet  again  or  only  write, 
raises  it  into  friendship,  and  encourages  the 
modesty  of  our  nature,  impelling  us  to  assume 
the  language  and  express  all  the  feelings  of  an 
established  attachment. 


The  thinhing  disease  is  that  in  which  the  morbid 
feelings,  instead  of  embodying  themselves  in  ^^„"" 
acts^  ascend  and  become  materials  of  general  rea- 
soning and  intellectual  pride.  The  dreadful  con- 
sequences of  this  perversion  [may  be]  instanced 
in  Germany,  e.g.^  in  Fichte  versus  Kant, 
Schelling  versus  Fichte,  and  in  Verbidigno 
[Wordsworth]  versus  S.  T.  C.  Ascent  where 
nature  meant  descent,  and  thus  shortening  the 
process,  viz.,  feelings  made  the  subjects  and 
tangible  substance  of  thought,  instead  of  actions, 
realizations,  things  done,  and  as  such  exter- 
nalized and  remembered.  On  such  meagre  diet 
as  feelings,  evaporated  embryos  in  their  progress 
to  birth,  no  moral  being  ever  becomes  healthy. 

Empires,    states,    etc.,    may    be    beautifully  "phan- 
illustrated  by  a  large  clump  of  coal  placed  on  a  sublim- 
fire,  —  Russia,  for  instance, — or  of  small  coal  "^  " 
moistened,  and,  by  the  first  action  of  the  heat  of 
any  government  not  absolutely  lawless,  formed 
143 


WINTER 


ANIMA  POET^ 

into  a  cake,  as  the  northern  nations  under 
Charlemagne  —  then  a  slight  impulse  from  the 
fall  of  accident,  or  the  hand  of  patriotic  fore- 
sight, splits  [the  one]  into  many,  and  makes 
each  [fragment]  burn  with  its  own  flame,  till  at 
length  all  burning  equally,  it  becomes  again  one 
by  universal  similar  action — then  burns  low, 
cinerizes,  and  without  accession  of  rude  materials 
goes  out. 

A  MILD  Winter,  slumbering  soft,  seemed  to  smile  at 

visions  of  buds  and  blooms,  and  dreamt  so  live- 
lily  of  spring,  that  his  stern  visage  had  relaxed 
and  softened  itself  into  a  dim  likeness  of  his 
dream.  The  soul  of  the  vision  breathed  through 
and  lay  like  light  upon  his  face. 

But,  heavens !  what  an  outrageous  day  of 
winter  this  is  and  has  been !  Terrible  weather 
for  the  last  two  months,  but  this  is  horrible ! 
Thunder  and  lightning,  floods  of  rain,  and  vol- 
leys of  hail,  with  such  frantic  winds.  December, 
1806. 

[This  note  was  written  when  S.  T.  C.  was 
staying  with  "Wordsworth  at  the  Hall  Farm, 
Coleorton.] 


MOON-  In  the  first  [entrance  to  the  wood]  the  spots 

GLEAMS     of  moonlight  of  the  wildest  outlines,  not  unfre- 

^^^  quently  approaching  so  near  to  the  shape  of  man 

oLOBiEs     and  the  domestic  animals  most  attached  to  him 

as  to  be  easily  confused  with  them  by  fancy  and 

mistaken   by  terror,  moved  and   started  as   the 

wind   stirred   the   branches,    so   that    it   almost 

seemed   like   a   flight   of   recent   spirits,  sylphs 

and  sylphids  dancing  and  capering  in  a  world  of 

144 


ANIMA  POET^ 

shadows.  Once,  when  our  path  was  over-cano- 
pied by  the  meeting  boughs,  as  I  halloed  to  those 
a  stone-throw  behind  me,  a  sudden  flash  of  lisrht 
dashed  down,  as  it  were,  upon  the  path  close  be- 
fore me,  with  such  rapid  and  indescribable  effect 
that  my  life  seemed  snatched  away  from  me, 
not  by  terror,  but  by  the  whole  attention  being 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly  seized  hold  of.  If 
one  could  conceive  a  violent  blow  given  by  an 
unseen  hand,  yet  without  pain  or  local  sense  of 
injury,  of  the  weight  falling  here  or  there,  it 
might  assist  in  conceiving  the  feeling.  This  I 
found  was  occasioned  by  some  very  large  bird, 
who,  scared  by  my  noise,  had  suddenly  flown  up- 
ward, and  by  the  spring  of  his  feet  or  body  had 
driven  down  the  branch  on  which  he  was  aperch. 
145 


CHAPTER  V. 

SEPTEMBER,  1S06-DECEMBEB,  1807. 

Alas  !  for  some  abidiug-place  of  love, 

O'er  which  my  spirit,  like  the  mother  dove, 

Might  brood  with  warning  wings ! 

S.  T.  C. 


DREAMS  I  HAD  a  confused  shadow  rather  than  an  image 
in  my  recollection,  like  that  from  a  thin  cloud,  as 
if  the  idea  were  descending,  though  still  in  some 


AND 
SHADOWS 


measureless  height. 


As  when  the  taper's  white  cone  of  flame  is 
seen  double,  till  the  eye  moving  brings  them  into 
one  space  and  then  they  become  one  —  so  did 
the  idea  in  my  imagination  coadunate  with  your 
present  form  soon  after  I  first  gazed  upon  you. 

And  in  life's  noisiest  hour 

There  whispers  still  the  ceaseless  love  of  thee, 

The  heart's  self-solace  and  soliloquy. 

You  mould  my  hopes,  you  fashion  me  within. 
And  to  the  leading  love-throb  in  my  heart 
Through  all  my  being,  all  my  pulses  beat. 
You  lie  in  all  my  many  thoughts  like  light, 
Like  the  fair  light  of  dawn,  or  summer  light, 
On  rippling  stream,  or  cloud-reflecting  lake  — 
And  looking  to  the  Heaven  that  beams  above 

you. 
How  do  I  bless  the  lot  that  made  me  love  you  I 
146 


LEDGE 
AXD  UN- 
DER- 
STANDING 


ANIMA  POET^ 

In  all  processes  of  the  understanding  the  know 
shortest  way  will  be  discovered  the  last ;  and  this, 
perhaps,  while  it  constitutes  the  great  advantage 
of  having  a  teacher  to  put  us  on  the  shortest  road 
at  the  first,  yet  sometimes  occasions  a  difficulty 
in  the  comprehension,  inasmuch  as  the  longest 
way  is  more  near  to  the  existing  state  of  the 
mind,  nearer  to  what  if  left  to  myself,  on  start- 
ing the  thought,  I  should  have  thought  next. 
The  shortest  way  gives  me  the  hnowledge  best, 
but  the  longest  makes  me  more  knowing. 


When  a  party  man  talks  as  if  he  hated  his  partisans 
country,  saddens  at  her  prosperous  events,  exults  gades 
in  her  disasters,  and  yet,  all  the  while,  is  merely 
hating  the  opposite  party,  and  would  himself 
feel  and  talk  as  a  patriot  were  he  in  a  foreign 
land  [he  is  a  party  man].  The  true  monster 
is  he  (and  such  alas !  there  are  in  these  mon- 
strous days,  "  vollendeter  Siindhaftigkeit  "),  who 
abuses  his  country  when  out  of  his  coimtry. 

Oh  the  profanation  of  the  sacred  word  the  populace 
People !  Every  brutal  Burdett-led  mob,  as-  people 
sembled  on  some  drunken  St.  Monday  of  faction, 
is  the  People  forsooth,  and  each  leprous  raga- 
muffin, like  a  circle  in  geometry,  is,  at  once,  one 
and  all,  and  calls  its  own  brutal  self,  "  us  the 
People."  And  who  are  the  friends  of  the  Peo- 
ple ?  Not  those  who  would  wish  to  elevate  each 
of  them,  or,  at  least,  the  child  who  is  to  take  his 
place  in  the  flux  of  life  and  death,  into  something 
worthy  of  esteem  and  capable  of  freedom,  but 
those  who  flatter  and  infuriate  them,  as  they  are. 
A  contradiction  in  the  very  thought !  For  if, 
147 


ANIMA  POET^ 

really,  they  are  good  and  wise,  virtuous  and 
well-iuformed,  how  weak  must  be  the  motives  of 
discontent  to  a  truly  moral  being ;  but  if  the 
contrary,  and  the  motives  for  discontent  propor- 
tionably  strong,  how  without  guilt  and  absurdity 
appeal  to  them  as  judges  and  arbiters  ?  He 
alone  is  entitled  to  a  share  in  the  government  of  all 
who  has  learnt  to  govern  liimseK.  There  is  but 
one  possible  ground  of  a  right  of  freedom  —  viz., 
to  understand  and  revere  its  duties. 

[  Vide  Life  of  S.  T.  C,  by  James  Gillman, 
1838,  p.  223.] 


FOR  THE  How  villainously  these  metallic  pencils  have 
IN  AB-"^^  degenerated,  not  only  in  the  length  and  quan- 
M^^^fs"  *^*y'  ^^^*'  what  is  far  worse,  in  the  quality  of  the 
1807,  metal !     This  one  appears  to  have  no  superiority 

over  the  worst  sort  sold  by  the   Maltese   shop- 
keepers. 


J 


Blue  sky  through  the  glimmering  interspaces 
of  the  dark  elms  at  twilight  rendered  a  lovely 
deep  yellow-green  —  all  the  rest  a  delicate  blue. 

The  hay-field  in  the  close  hard  by  the  farm- 
house —  babe,  and  totterer  little  more  [than  a 
babe]  —  old  cat  with  her  eyes  blinking  in  the 
sun,  and  little  kittens  leaping  and  frisking  over 
the  hay-lines. 


What  an  admirable  subject  for  an  Allston 
would  Tycho  Brahe  be,  listening  with  religious 
awe  to  the  oracular  gabble  of  the  idiot,  whom  he 
kept  at  his  feet,  and  used  to  feed  with  his  own 
hands ! 

148 


ANIMA  POETiE 

The  sunflower  ought  to  be  cultivated,  the 
leaves  being  excellent  fodder,  the  flowers  emi- 
nently melliferous,  and  the  seeds  a  capital  food 
for  poultry,  none  nourishing  quicker  or  occasion- 
ing them  to  lay  more  eggs. 

Serpentium  allapsus  timet.  Quaere  —  allapse 
of  serpents.  Horace.  —  What  other  word  have 
we  ?  Pity  that  we  dare  not  Saxonize  as  boldly 
as  our  forefathers,  by  unfortunate  preference.  Lat- 
inized. Then  we  should  have  onglide,  angleiten  ; 
onlook,  anschauen,  etc. 

I  moisten  the  bread  of  affliction  with  the 
water  of  adversity. 

If  kings  are  gods  on  earth,  they  are,  however, 
gods  of  earth. 

Parisatis  poisoned  one  side  of  the  knife  with 
which  he  carved,  and  ate  of  the  same  joint  the 
next  slice  unhurt  —  a  happy  illustration  of  af- 
fected self-inclusion  in  accusation. 

It  is  possible  to  conceive  a  planet  without  any 
general  atmosphere,  but  in  which  each  living 
body  has  its  peculiar  atmosphere.  To  hear  and 
understand,  one  man  joins  his  atmosphere  to 
that  of  another,  and,  according  to  the  sympatliies 
of  their  nature,  the  aberrations  of  sound  will 
be  greater  or  less,  and  their  thoughts  more  or 
less  intelligible.  A  pretty  allegory  might  be 
made  of  this. 

Two  faces,  each  of  a  confused  countenance. 
149 


ANIMA  POET^ 

In  the  eyes  of  tlie  one,  muddiness  and  lustre 
were  blended ;  and  the  eyes  of  the  other  were  the 
same,  but  in  them  there  was  a  red  fever  that  made 
them  appear  more  fierce.  And  yet,  methought, 
the  former  struck  a  greater  trouble,  a  fear  and 
distress  of  the  mind ;  and  sometimes  all  the  face 
looked  meek  and  mild,  but  the  eye  was  ever  the 
same. 

[Qu.  S.  T.  C.  and  De  Quincey?] 

Shadow  —  its  being  subsists  in  shaped  and 
definite  nonentity. 

Plain  sense,  measure,  clearness,  dignity,  grace 
over  all  —  these  made  the  genius  of  Greece. 

Heu !  quam  miserum  ab  illo  laedi,  de  quo  non 
possis  queri !  Eheu !  quam  miserrimum  est  ab 
illo  lasdi,  de  quo  propter  amorem  non  possis 
queri ! 

Observation  from  Bacon  after  reading  Mr. 
Sheridan's  speech  on  Ireland :  "  Things  will 
have  their  first  or  second  agitation  ;  if  they  be 
not  tossed  on  the  arguments  of  council,  they  will 
be  tossed  on  the  waves  of  fortune." 

The  death  of  an  immortal  has  been  beautifully 
compared  to  an  Indian  fig,  which  at  its  full 
height  declines  its  branches  to  the  earth,  and 
there  takes  root  again. 


The  blast  rises  and  falls,  and  trembles  at  its 
150 


height 


ANIMA  POET^ 

A  passionate  woman  may  be  likened  to  a  wet 
candle  spitting  jflame. 

TO    LOVE. 

It  is  a  duty,  nay,  it  is  a  religion  to  that  power 
to  show  that,  though  it  makes  all  things  — 
wealth,  pleasure,  ambition  —  worthless,  yea,  noi- 
some for  themselves,  yet  for  itseli  it  can  produce 
all  efforts,  even  if  only  to  secure  its  name  from 
scoffs  as  the  child  and  parent  of  slothfulness. 
Works,  therefore,  of  general  profit  —  works  of 
abstruse  thought  [will  be  born  of  love] ;  activity, 
and,  above  all,  virtue  and  chastity  [will  come 
forth  from  his  presence]. 

The  moulting  peacock,  with  only  two  of  his 
long  tail-feathers  remaining,  and  those  sadly  in 
tatters,  yet,  proudly  as  ever,  spreads  out  his 
ruined  fan  in  the  sun  and  breeze. 

Yesterday  I  saw  seven  or  eight  water-wagtails 
following  a  feeding  horse  in  the  pasture,  flutter- 
ing about  and  hopping  close  by  his  hoofs,  under 
his  belly,  and  even  so  as  often  to  tickle  his  nos- 
trils with  their  pert  tails.  The  horse  shortens 
the  grass  and  they  get  the  insects. 

Sic  accipite,  sic  credite,  ut  mereamini  intel- 
ligere :  fides  enim  debet  praecedere  intellectum, 
ut  sit  intellectus  fidei  praemium. 

S.  August.  Sermones  De  Verb.  Dom. 
Yet   should   a    friend    think    foully   of    that 
wherein  the  pride  of  thy   spirit's   purity  is   in 
shrine. 

151 


ANIMA  POETiE 

O  the  agony  !  tlie  agony ! 
Nor  Time  nor  varying  Fate, 
Nor  tender  Memory,  old  or  late, 
Nor  all  his  Virtues,  great  though  they  be, 
Nor  all  his  Genius  can  free 
His  friend's  soul  from  the  agony  ! 
[So  receive,  so  believe  [divine  ideas]  that  ye 
may   earn   the  right  to  understand  them.     For 
faith  should  go  before  understanding,  in  order 
that  understanding  may  be  the  reward  of  faith.] 

'O  T£  iv6ov(TLa(Tjxo^  iTTLvevcTLV  Tiva  6e.Lav  ^X^'"^  BoKei 
KOiL  T<p  fiavTLK(2  yivu  TrXija-td^eLV.  —  StraOO    Geogva- 

phicus. 

Though  Genius,  like  the  fire  on  the  altar,  can 
only  be  kindled  from  heaven,  yet  it  will  perish 
unless  supplied  with  appropriate  fuel  to  feed  it ; 
or  if  it  meet  not  with  the  virtues  whose  society 
alone  can  reconcile  it  to  earth,  it  will  return 
whence  it  came,  or,  at  least,  lie  hid  as  beneath 
embers,  till  some  sudden  and  awakening  gust  of 
regenerating  Grace,  wa^oMrvpci,  rekindles  and  re- 
veals it  anew. 

[Now  the  inspiration  of  genius  seems  to  bear 
the  stamp  of  Divine  assent,  and  to  attain  to 
something  of  prophetic  strain.] 


FALLINGS 
FROM  US, 
VANISH- 
ING8 


I  trust  you  are  very  happy  in  your  domestic 
being  —  very ;  because,  alas  !  I  know  that  to 
a  man  of  sensibility,  and  more  emphatically  if 
he  be  a  literary  man,  there  is  no  medium  be- 
tween that  and  "  the  secret  pang  that  eats  away 
the  heart."  .  .  .  Hence,  even  in  dreams  of  sleep, 
the  soul  never  is,  because  it  either  cannot  or  dare 
not  be  any  one  thing,  but  lives  in  approaches 
152 


ANIMA  POET^ 

touched  by  the  outgoing  preexistent  ghosts  of 
many  feelings.  It  feels  forever,  as  a  blind  man 
with  his  protruded  staff,  dimly  thi-ough  the  me- 
dium of  the  instrument  by  which  it  pushes  off, 
and  in  the  act  of  repulsion  —  (O  for  the  elo- 
quence of  Shakspere,  who  alone  could  feel  and 
yet  know  how  to  embody  those  conceptions  with 
as  curious  a  felicity  as  the  thoughts  are  subtle !) 
—  as  if  the  finger  which  I  saw  with  eyes  had, 
as  it  were,  another  finger,  invisible,  touching  me 
with  a  ghostly  touch,  even  while  I  feared  the  real 
touch  from  it.  What  if,  in  certain  cases,  touch 
acted  by  itself,  co-present  with  vision,  yet  not 
coalescing?  Then  I  should  see  the  finger  as  at 
a  distance,  and  yet  feel  a  finger  touching  which 
was  nothing  but  it,  and  yet  was  not  it.  The  two 
senses  cannot  co-exist  without  a  sense  of  causa- 
tion. The  touch  must  be  the  effect  of  that 
fiinger  [which]  I  see,  and  yet  it  is  not  yet  near 
to  me,  and  therefore  it  is  not  it,  and  yet  it  is  it. 
Why  it  is  is  in  an  imaginary  jDre-duplication ! 

N.  B.  There  is  a  passage  in  the  second  part 
of  Wallenstein  expressing,  not  explaining,  the 
same  feeling.  "  The  spirits  of  great  events  stride 
on  before  the  events  ; "  it  is  in  one  of  the  last 
two  or  three  scenes :  — 

"  As  the  sun. 
Ere  it  Is  risen,  sometimes  paints  its  image 
In  the  atmosphere,  so  often  do  the  spirits 
Of  great  events  stride  on  before  the  events." 
[Wallenstein,  Part  II.,  Act  v.,  Sc.  1,  P.  W.,  1895,  p.  351.] 

It  is  worth  noting  and  endeavoring  to  detect  the 
the  Law  of  the  Mind,  by  which,  in  writing  ear- 
nestly  while   we    are   thinking,  we   omit  words 
necessary    to   the   sense.     It   will   be   found,   I 
153 


PSYCHO- 
LOGY OF 
CLERICAL 
EKKORS 


ANIMA  POET^ 

giiess,  that  we  seldom  omit  the  material  word, 
but  generally  the  word  by  which  the  mind  ex- 
presses its  modification  of  the  verbum  materiale. 
Thus,  on  page  152,  fifth  line  from  bottom,  me- 
dium is  the  materiale:  that  was  its  own  brute, 
inert  sense  —  but  the  no  is  the  mind's  action,  its 
use  of  the  word. 

I  think  this  a  hint  of  some  value.  Thus,  the 
is  a  word  in  constant  combination  with  the 
passive  or  material  words ;  but  to  is  an  act  of 
the  mind,  and  I  had  written  the  detect  instead 
of  to  detect.  Again,  when  my  sense  demanded 
"  the  "  to  express  a  distinct  modification  of  some 
verhum  materiale,  I  remember  to  have  often 
omitted  it  in  writing.  The  principle  is  evident : 
the  mind  borrows  the  matena  from  without,  and 
passive  with  regard  to  it  as  the  mere  subject  is 
"  stoff "  —  a  simple  event  of  memory  takes  place ; 
but  having  the  other  in  itself,  the  inward  Having, 
with  its  sense  of  security,  passes  for  the  outward 
Having  —  or  is  all  memory  an  anxious  act,  and 
thereby  suspended  by  vivid  security  ?  or  are  both 
reasons  the  same?  or  if  not,  are  they  consis- 
tent, and  capable  of  being  co-  or  sub-ordinated  ? 
It  will  be  lucky  if  some  day,  after  having  writ- 
ten on  for  two  or  tliree  sheets  rapidly  and  as  a 
first  copy,  without  correctign,  I  shoidd  by  chance 
glance  on  this  note,  not  having  thought  at  all 
about  it  during  or  before  the  time  of  writing ; 
and  then  to  examine  every  word  omitted. 


BIBLIO- 
LOGICAL 
MEMO- 
RANDA 


To  spend  half  an  hour  in  Cuthill's  shop,  ex- 
amining StejDhen's   Thesaurus,  in  order  to  form 
an  accurate  idea  of  its  utilities  above  Scapula, 
and  to  examine  the  Budceo-Tusan  Constantine, 
154 


ANIMA  POET^ 

whether  it  be  the  same  or  as  good  as  Constan- 
tine,  and  the  comparative  merits  of  Coustantiue 
with  Scapula. 

3.  To  examine  Bosc  relatively  to  Brunck,  and 
to  see  after  the  new  German  Antholo(/ia. 

4.  Before  I  quit  town,  to  buy  Appendix  (either 
No.  1430  or  1431),  8s.  or  18s.  What  a  differ- 
ence !  ten  shillings,  because  the  latter,  the  Parma 
Anacreon  is  on  large  paper,  green  morocco  ;  the 
former  is  neat  in  red  morocco,  but  the  type 
the  same. 

5.  To  have  a  long  morning's  ramble  with  De 
Quincey,  first  to  Egerton's  and  then  to  the 
book  haunts. 

6.  To  see  if  I  can  find  that  Arrian  with 
Epictetus  which  I  admired  so  much  at  Mr. 
Leckie's. 

7.  To  find  out  D'Orville's  Daphnis,  and  the 
price.  Is  there  no  other  edition  ?  no  cheap  Ger- 
man? 

8.  To  write  out  the  passage  from  Strada's 
Prolusions  at  Cuthill's. 

9.  Aristotle's  Works,  and  to  hunt  for  Proclus. 

10.  In  case  of  my  speedy  death,  it  would  an- 
swer to  buy  a  ,£100  worth  of  carefully  chosen 
books,  in  order  to  attract  attention  to  my  library 
and  to  give  accession  to  the  value  of  books  by 
their  co-existing  with  co-appurtenants  —  as,  for 
instance,  Plato,  Aristotle  ;  Plotinus,  Porphyry, 
Proclus ;  Schoolmen,  Interscholastic ;  Bacon, 
Hobbes ;  Locke,  Berkeley;  Leibnitz,  Spinoza; 
Kant  and  the  critical  Ficlite,  and  Wissen- 
schaftslehre,  Schelliug.  [The  first  ed.  of  Rob. 
Constantin's  Lexicon  Graeco  Lat.  as  jniblished 
at  Geneva   in  1564.      A  second  ed.  post   cor- 

155 


ANIMA  POET^ 

rectiones  G.  Budei  et  J.  Tusani,  at  Basle  in 
1584.] 

TravTtt  Our  mortal  existence  —  what  is  it  but  a  stop- 

P"'  page  in  the  blood  of  life,  a  brief  eddy  from  wind 

or  concourse  of  currents  in  the  ever -flowing 
ocean  of  pure  Activity,  who  beholds  pyramids, 
yea,  Alps  and  Andes,  giant  pyramids,  the  work 
of  fire  that  raiseth  monuments,  like  a  generous 
victor  o'er  its  own  conquest,  the  tombstones  of 
a  world  destroyed !  Yet  these,  too,  float  adown 
the  sea  of  Time,  and  melt  away  as  mountains  of 
floating  ice. 


DisTiNc-  Has  every  finite  being  (or  only  some)  the 
UNION  temptation  to  become  intensely  and  wholly  con- 
scious of  its  distinctness,  and,  as  a  resvdt,  to  be 
betrayed  into  the  wretchedness  of  division  ? 
Grosser  natures,  wholly  swallowed  up  in  selfish- 
ness, which  does  not  rise  to  self-love,  never  even 
acquire  that  sense  of  distinctness,  while,  to 
others,  love  is  the  first  step  to  reunion.  It  is  a 
by-word  that  religious  enthusiasm  borders  on 
and  tends  to  sensuality  —  possibly  because  aU 
our  powers  work  together,  and  as  a  consequence 
of  striding  too  vastly  up  the  ladder  of  existence, 
a  great  round  of  the  ladder  is  omitted,  namely, 
love  to  some  verschiedene  Eine  of  our  own  kind. 
Then  let  Religion  love,  else  will  it  not  only  par- 
take of,  instead  of  being  partaken  by,  and  so 
coadunated  with,  the  summit  of  love,  but  will 
necessarily  include  the  nadir  of  love,  that  is 
appetite.  Hence  will  it  tend  to  dissensualize  its 
nature  into  fantastic  passions,  the  idolatry  of 
Paphian  priestesses. 

156 


ANIMA  POET^ 
Time,  space,  duration,  action,  active   passion  in  won- 

..  DER  ALL 

passive,  activeness,  passiveness,  reaction,  causa-  philoso- 
tion,  affinity  —  here  assemble  all  the  mysteries  ^"^  "^ 
known.  All  is  known-unknown,  say,  rather, 
merely  known.  All  is  unintelligible,  and  yet 
Locke  and  the  stupid  adorers  of  thai  fetich  earth- 
clod  take  all  for  granted.  By  the  bye,  in  poetry, 
as  well  as  metaphysics,  that  which  we  first  meet 
with  in  the  dawn  of  our  mind  becomes  ever  after 
fetich  to  the  many  at  least.  Blessed  he  who 
first  sees  the  morning  star,  if  not  the  sun,  or 
purpling  clouds  his  harbingers.  Thence  is  fame 
desirable  to  a  great  man,  and  thence  subversion 
of  vulgar  fetiches  becomes  a  duty. 

Rest,  motion !  O  ye  strange  locks  of  intricate 
simplicity,  who  shall  find  the  key?  He  shall 
throw  wide  open  the  portals  of  the  palace  of 
sensuous  or  symbolical  truth,  and  the  Holy  of 
Holies  will  be  found  in  the  adyta.  Rest  =  en- 
joyment and  death.  Motion  =  enjoyment  and 
life.  O  the  depth  of  the  proverb,  "  Extremes 
meet " ! 


IN  A 
TWIN- 
KLING OF 


The  "  break  of  the  morning "  —  and  from 
inaction  a  nation  starts  up  into  motion  and  wide 
fellow-consciousness !  The  trumpet  of  the  Arch-  '^"'^  ^^^ 
angel  —  and  a  world  with  all  its  troops  and  com- 
panies of  generations  starts  up  into  a  hundred- 
fold expansion,  power  multiplied  into  itself 
cubically  by  the  number  of  all  its  possible  acts 
—  all  the  potential  springing  into  power.  Con- 
ceive a  bliss  from  self-conscience,  combining 
with  bliss  from  increase  of  action ;  the  first 
dreaming,  the  latter  dead-asleep  in  a  grain  of 
gunpowder  —  conceive  a  huge  magazine  of  gun- 
157 


ANIMA  POET^ 

powder,  and  a  flash  of  lightning  awakes  the 
whole  at  once.  What  an  image  of  the  resur- 
rection, grand  from  its  very  inadequacy.  Yet 
again,  conceive  the  living,  moving  ocean  —  its 
bed  sinks  away  from  under,  and  the  whole  world 
of  waters  falls  in  at  once  on  a  thousand  times 
vaster  mass  of  intensest  fire,  and  the  whole  prior 
orbit  of  the  planet's  successive  revolutions  is 
possessed  by  it  at  once  {Potentia  jit  actus}  amid 
the  thunder  of  rapture. 

SINE  Form  is  factitious  being,  and  thinking  is  the 

jjrocess ;  imagination  the  laboratory  in  which 
the  thought  elaborates  essence  into  existence.  A 
philosopher,  that  is,  a  nominal  philosoplier  with- 
out imagination,  is  a  coiner.  Vanity,  the  froth 
of  the  molten  mass,  is  his  stuff,  and  verbiage  the 
stamp  and  impression.  This  is  but  a  deaf  met- 
aphor —  better  say  that  he  is  guilty  of  forgery. 
He  presents  the  same  sort  of  'pa'per  as  the  honest 
barterer,  but  when  you  carry  it  to  the  bank  it  is 
found  to  be  drawn  to  Outis,  Esq.  His  words 
had  deposited  no  forms  there,  payable  at  sight 
—  or  even  at  any  imaginable  time  from  the  date 
of  the  draft. 


SUSPICI- 
ENDO 


soLviTUR  The  sky,  or  rather  say,  the  aether  at  Malta, 
with  the  sun  apparently  suspended  in  it,  the  eye 
seeming  to  pierce  beyond  and,  as  it  were,  behind 
it  —  and,  below,  the  sethereal  sea,  so  blue,  so  a 
zerjlossenes  eins,  the  substantial  image,  and  fixed 
real  reflection  of  the  sky !  O !  I  could  annihi- 
late in  a  deep  moment  all  possibility  of  the  nee- 
dle-point, pin's-head  system  of  the  atomists  by 
one  submissive  gaze ! 

158 


ANIMA  POET^ 

A  dewdrop,  the  pearl  of  Aurora,  is  indeed  a  a  gem  of 
true  unio.     I  would  that  unio  were  the  word  for 
the  dewdrop,  and  the  pearl  be  called  unio  marir 
nus. 

0  for  the  power  to  persuade  all  the  writers  of  ver,  zek 
Great  Britain  to  adopt  the  ver,  zer,  and  al  of  the 
German.      Why  not   verboil,  zerboil ;  verrend, 
zerrend  ?    I  should  like  the  very  words  verJlosseUy 
zerJlosse7i,  to  be  naturalized  :  — 

And  as  I  looked  now  feels  my  soul  creative  throes, 
And  now  all  joy,  all  sense  zerflows. 

1  do  not  know  whether  I  am  in  earnest  or  in 
sport  while  I  recommend  this  ver  and  zer  ;  that 
is,  I  cannot  be  sure  whether  I  feel,  myself,  any- 
thing ridiculous  in  the  idea,  or  whether  the  feel- 
ing that  seems  to  imply  this  be  not  the  effect  of 
my  anticipation  of  and  sympathy  with  the  ridi- 
cule of,  perhaps,  all  my  readers. 

To   you  there  are  many  like  me,  yet  to  me  the 
there  is  none  like  you,  and  you  are  always  like  ^^^^^  ^ 
yourseH.     There  are  groves  of  night-flowers,  yet 
the  night-flower  sees  only  the  moon. 
159 


HUMILITY 


INOPENE 
ME   COPIA 
FECIT 


CHAPTER  VI. 

180S-1S09. 

Yea,  oft  alone, 
Piercing  the  long-neglected  holy  cave 
The  haunt  obscure  of  old  Philosophy, 
He  bade,  with  lifted  torch,  its  starry  walls 
Sparkle,  as  erst  tliey  sparliled  to  the  flame 
Of  odorous  lamps  tended  by  Saint  and  Sage. 


If  one  thought  leads  to  another,  so  often  does  it 
blot  out  another.  This  I  find  when  having  lain 
musing  on  my  sofa,  a  number  of  interesting 
thoughts  having  suggested  themselves,  I  conquer 
my  bodily  indolence,  and  rise  to  record  them  in 
these  books,  alas !  my  only  confidants.  The  first 
thought  leads  me  on  indeed  to  new  ones ;  but 
nothing  but  the  faint  memory  of  having  had 
these  remains  of  the  other,  which  had  been  even 
more  interesting  to  me.  I  do  not  know  whether 
this  be  an  idiosyncrasy,  a  peculiar  disease,  of  my 
particular  memory,  but  so  it  is  with  we,  —  my 


thoughts  crowd  each  other  to  death. 


A  NEU- 
TRAL 
PRONOUN 


Quaere  —  whether  we  may  not,  nay  ought  not, 
to  use  a  neutral  pronoun  relative,  or  representa- 
tive, to  the  word  "  Person,"  where  it  hath  been 
used  in  the  sense  of  homo,  mensch,  or  noun  of 
the  common  gender,  in  order  to  avoid  particular- 
izing man  or  woman,  or  in  order  to  express  either 
sex  indifferently  ?  If  this  be  incorrect  in  syntax, 
the  whole  use  of  the  word  Person  is  lost  in  a 
number  of  instances,  or  only  retained  by  some 
160 


ANIMA  POET^ 

stiff  and  strange  position  of  words,  as,  "  not 
letting  the  person  be  aware,  n'lierein  offence  has 
been  given,^^  instead  of,  "  wherein  he  or  she 
has  offended."  In  my  [judgment]  both  the 
specific  intention  and  general  etymon  of  "  Per- 
son "  in  such  sentences  fully  authorize  the  use  of 
it  and  which  instead  of  he,  she,  him,  her,  who, 
whom. 

If  love  be  the  genial  sun  of  human  nature,  un-  the 
kindly  has  he  divided  his  rays  [in  acting]  on  me  com- 
and  my  beloved  !     On  her  hath  he  poured  all  his  xhe'lovek 
light  and  splendor,  and  my  being  doth  he  per- 
meate with  his  invisible  rays  of  heat  alone.     She 
shines   and   is   cold   like   the   tropic  firefly ;    I, 
dark  and  uncomely,  would  better  resemble   the 
cricket  in  hot  ashes.     My  soul,  at  least,  might  be 
considered  as  a  cricket  eradiating  the  heat  which, 
gradually  cinerizing  the  heart,  produces  the  em- 
bers and  ashes  from  among  which  it  chirps  out 
of  its  hiding-place. 

N.  B.  This  put  in  simple  and  elegant  verse, 
[would  pass]  as  an  imitation  of  Marini,  and  of 
too  large  a  part  of  the  madrigals  of  Guarini  him- 
self. 

Truth  per  se  is  like  unto  quicksilver,  bright,  truth 
agile,  harmless.  Swallow  a  pound  and  it  will 
run  through  unaltered,  and  only,  perhaps,  by  its 
weight  force  down  impurities  from  out  the  sj'^s- 
tem.  But  mix  and  comminute  it  by  the  mineral 
acid  of  spite  and  bigotry,  and  even  truth  becomes 
a  deadly  poison  —  medicinal  only  when  some 
other,  yet  deadlier,  lurks  in  the  bones. 
161 


INEFFA- 


ANIMA  POETiE 

LOVE  THE  O  !  many,  many  are  the  seeings,  hearings  of 
pure  love  that  have  a  being  of  their  own,  and  to 
call  them  by  the  names  of  things  unsouled  and 
debased  below  even  their  lowest  nature  by  associa- 
tions accidental,  and  of  vicious  accidents,  is  blas- 
phemy. What  seest  thou  yonder?  The  lovely 
countenance  of  a  lovely  maiden,  fervid  yet  awe- 
suffering  with  devotion  —  her  face  resigned  to 
bliss  or  bale  ;  or  a  hit  of  Jlesh ;  or  rather,  that 
which  cannot  be  seen  unless  by  him  whose  very 
seeing  is  more  than  an  act  of  mere  sight  —  that 
wliich  refuses  all  words,  because  words  being, 
perforce,  generalities  do  not  awake,  but  really 
involve  associations  of  other  words  as  well  as 
other  thoughts  —  but  that  which  I  see  must  be 
felt,  be  possessed,  in  and  by  its  sole  self  !  What ! 
shall  the  statuary  Pygmalion  of  necessity  feel 
this  for  every  part  of  the  insensate  marble,  and 
shall  the  lover  Pygmalion,  in  contemplating  the 
living  statue,  the  heart-adored  maiden,  breathing 
forth  in  every  look,  every  movement,  the  genial 
life  imbreathed  of  God,  grovel  in  the  mire  and 
grunt  the  language  of  the  swinish  slaves  of  the 
Circe,  of  vulgar  generality  and  still  more  vulgar 
association  ?  The  Polyclete  that  created  the 
Aphrodite  KaXXiirvyos  thought  in  acts,  not  words 
—  energy  divinely  languageless  —  Bia  t6v  Aoyov, 
ov  a-vv  eirea-L,  through  the  Word,  not  with  ivords. 
And  what  though  it  met  with  Imp-fathers  and 
Imp-mothers  and  Fiendsips  at  its  christening  in 
its  parents'  absence  ! 


THE  MAN-       One  of  the  causes  of  superstition,  and  also  of 
enthusiasm,  and,  indeed,  of  all  errors  in  matters 
of  fact,  is  the  great  power  with  which  the  effect 
162 


UFACTURE 
OF  PRO 
PHECY 


ANIMA  POET^ 

acts  upon  and  modifies  the  remembrance  of  its 
cause,  at  times  even  transforming  it  in  the  mind. 
Let  A  have  said  a  few  words  to  B,  which  (by- 
some  change  and  accommodation  of  them  to  the 
event  in  the  mind  of  i?)  have  been  remarkably  ful- 
filled ;  and  let  B  remind  A  of  these  words  which 
he  (^)  had  sjioken,  A  will  instantly  forget  all 
his  mood,  motive,  and  meaning,  at  the  time  of 
speaking  them,  nay,  remember  words  he  had 
never  spoken,  and  throw  back  upon  them,  from 
the  immediate  event,  an  imagined  fulfilment,  a 
prophetic  grandeur  —  himself,  in  his  own  faith, 
a  seer  of  no  small  inspiration.  We  yet  want 
the  growth  of  a  prophet  and  self-deceived  won- 
der-worker stej)  hy  stejj,  through  all  the  stages ; 
and,  yet,  what  ample  materials  exist  for  a  true 
and  nobly-minded  psychologist !  For,  in  order 
to  make  fit  use  of  these  materials,  he  must  love 
and  honor  as  well  as  understand  human  nature 
—  rather,  he  must  love  in  order  to  understand  it. 

O  that  sweet  bird  !  where  is  it  ?     It  is  encaged  the  cap- 
somewhere  out  of  sight;  but  from  my  bedroom  Mlyie)*'" 
at   the    Courier    office,   from   the    windows    of  ^^^^ 
which  I  look  out  on  the  walls  of  the  Lycemn,  I 
hear  it  at  early   dawn,  often,  alas !  lulling  me 
to  late  sleep  —  again  when  I  awake  and  all  day- 
long.    It  is  in  prison,  all  its  instincts  ungratified, 
yet  it  feels  the   influence  of   spring,  and  caUs 
with  unceasing  melody  to  the  Loves  that  dwell 
in  field  and  greenwood  bowers,  unconscious,  per- 
haps, that  it  calls  in  vain.     O  are  they  the  songs 
of  a  happy,  enduring  day-dream  ?     Has  the  bird 
hope  ?  or  does  it  abandon  itself  to  the  joy  of  its 
163 


ANIMA  POET^ 


frame,  a  living  harp  of  Eolus  ? 
do  so ! 


O  that  I  could 


ARCHI- 
TECTURE 
AND 
CLIMATE 


Assuredly  a  thrush  or  blackbird  encaged  in 
Loudon  is  a  far  less  shocking  spectacle,  its  en- 
cagement  a  more  venial  defect  of  just  feeling, 
than  (which  yet  one  so  often  sees)  a  bird  in  a 
gay  cage  in  the  heart  of  the  country,  —  yea,  as  if 
at  once  to  mock  both  the  poor  prisoner  and  its 
kind  mother,  Nature,  —  in  a  cage  hung  up  in  a 
tree,  where  the  free  birds  after  a  while,  when 
the  gaudy  dungeon  is  no  longer  a  scare,  crowd 
to  it,  perch  on  the  wires,  drink  the  water,  and 
peck  up  the  seeds.  But  of  all  birds,  I  most 
detest  to  see  the  nightingale  encaged,  and  the 
swallow,  and  the  cuckoo.  Motiveless !  monstrous ! 
But  the  robin  !  O  woes'  woe !  woe !  —  he,  sweet 
cock-my-head-and-eye,  pert-bashful  darling,  that 
makes  our  kitchen  its  chosen  cage. 

If  we  take  into  consideration  the  effect  of  the 
climates  of  the  North,  Gothic,  in  contradistinc- 
tion to  Greek  and  Graeco-Eoman,  architecture 
is  rightly  so  named.  Take,  for  instance,  a  rainy, 
windy  day,  or  sleet,  or  a  fall  of  snow,  or  an 
icicle-hanging  frost,  and  then  compare  the  total 
effect  of  the  South  European  roundnesses  and 
smooth  perpendicular  surface  with  the  ever- 
varying  angles  and  meeting-lines  of  the  North 
European  or  Gothic  styles. 

[The   above  is  probably  a  dropped   sentence 
from    the   report    of   the   First  or  Second  Lec- 
ture of  the  1818  series.     See  Coleridrjc'' i>  Works, 
Harper  and  Brothers,  1853,  iv.  232-239.] 
164 


ANIMA  POET^ 

The  demagogues  address  the  lower  orders  as  neither 
if  they  were  negroes  —  as  if  each  individual  ^ ^ee  ^°" 
were  an  inseparable  part  of  the  order,  always  to 
remain,  nolens  volens,  poor  and  ignorant.  How 
different  from  Christianity,  which  forever  calls 
on  us  to  detach  ourselves  spiritually,  not  merely 
from  our  rank,  but  even  from  our  body,  and 
from  the  whole  world  of  sense  ! 


The  one  mighty,  main  defect  of  female  educa-  the 


maiden's 

VKIMEK 


tion  is  that  everything  is  taught  but  reason  and 
the  means  of  retaining  affection.  This  —  this 
—  O  !  it  is  worth  all  the  rest  told  ten  thousand 
times,  —  how  to  greet  a  husband,  how  to  re- 
ceive him,  how  never  to  recriminate  —  in  short, 
the  power  of  pleasurable  thoughts  and  feelings, 
and  the  mischief  of  giving  pain,  or  (as  often 
happens  when  a  husband  comes  home  from  a 
party  of  old  friends,  joyous  and  full  of  heart) 
the  love-killing  effect  of  cold,  dry,  uninterested 
looks  and  manners. 


Let  me  record  the  following  important  remark  the  hai.f- 
of  Stuart,  with  whom  I  never  converse  but  to  )J^^\Tse 
receive  some  distinct  and  rememberable  improve-  Wednes- 
ment   (and   if  it  be  not  remembered,  it  is  the  May  28, 

1808 

defect  of  my  memory  —  which,  alas !  grows 
weaker  daily  —  or  a  fault  from  my  indolence  in 
not  noting  it  down,  as  I  do  this),  that  there  is 
a  period  in  a  man's  life,  varying  in  various  men, 
from  thirty-five  to  forty-five,  and  operating 
most  strongly  in  bachelors,  widowers,  or  those 
worst  and  miserablest  widowers,  unhappy  hus- 
bands, in  which  a  man  finds  himself  at  the  toji 
of  the  hill^  and  having  attained,  jDerhaps,  what 
165 


ANIMA  POET^ 

he  wishes,  begins  to  ask  himself,  What  is  all 
this  for  ?  —  begins  to  feel  the  vanity  of  his  pur- 
suits, becomes  half  melancholy,  gives  in  to  wild 
dissij)atIon  or  self -regardless  di-inking ;  and  some, 
not  content  with  these  (not  sloiv^  poisons,  destroy 
themselves,  and  leave  their  ingenious  female  or 
female-minded  friends  to  fish  out  some  motive 
for  an  act  which  proceeded  from  a  motive-mahing 
impulse,  which  would  have  acted  even  without  a 
motive  (even  as  a  terror  ^  in  nightmare  is  a 
bodily  sensation,  and  though  It  most  often  calls 
lip  consonant  images,  yet,  as  I  know  by  experi- 
ence, can  take  effect  equally  without  anj-)  ;  or, 
if  not  so,  yet  like  gunpowder  in  a  smithy,  though 
it  will  not  go  off  without  a  spark,  is  sure  to 
receive  one,  if  not  this  hour,  yet  the  next.  I 
had  felt  this  truth,  but  never  saw  it  before 
clearly :  it  came  upon  me  at  Malta  under  the 
melancholy,  dreadful  feeling  of  finding  myself 
to  be  man,  by  a  distinct  division  from  boyhood, 
youth,  and  "  young  man."  Dreadful  was  the 
feeling  —  till  then  life  had  flown  so  that  I  had 
always  been  a  boy,  as  it  were  ;  and  this  sensa- 
tion had  blended  in  all  my  conduct,  my  willing 
acknowledgment  of  superiority,  and,  in  truth, 
my  meeting  every  person  as  a  superior  at  the  first 
moment.     Yet  if  men  survive  this  j)eriod,  they 

^  [0  heaven,  't  was  f  rig-htf ul !  now  run  down  and  stared  at 

By  shapes  more  ugly  than  can  be  remembered  — 

Now  seeing  nothing  and  iiuagining  nothing, 

But  only  being  afraid  —  stifled  with  Feax  ! 

And  every  goodly,  each  familiar  form 

Had  a  strange  somewhat  that  breathed  terrors  on  me  ! 
(From  my  MS.  tragedy  [S.  T.  C]  )   Remorse,  iv.  708-774 ;   but 
the  passage  is  omitted  from  Osorio,  Act  iv.  53  sq.,  P.  IF.,  pp. 
38&-499.] 

166 


ANIMA   POET^ 

commonly   become   cheerful   again.     That   is   a 
comfort  for  mankind,  not  for  me  ! 

My  inner  mind  does  not  justify  the  thought  his  own 
that  I  possess  a  genius,  my  strength  is  so  very  ^*^^'^'^ 
small  in  proportion  to  my  power.  I  believe  that 
I  first,  from  internal  feeling,  made  or  gave  light 
and  impulse  to  this  important  distinction  be- 
tween streng-th  and  power,  the  oak  and  the 
tropic  annual,  or  biennial,  which  grows  nearly 
as  high  and  spreads  as  large  as  the  oak,  but  in 
which  the  wood,  the  heart,  is  wanting  —  the  vital 
works  vehemently,  but  the  immortal  is  not  with 
it.  And  yet,  I  think,  I  must  have  some  analogue 
of  genius ;  because,  among  other  things,  when  I 
am  in  company  with  Mr.  Sharp,  Sir  J.  Mackin- 
tosh, R.  and  Sydney  Smith,  Mr.  Scarlett,  etc., 
etc.,  I  feel  like  a  child,  nay,  rather  like  an  inhab- 
itant of  another  planet.  Their  very  faces  all  act 
upon  me,  sometimes,  as  if  they  were  ghosts,  but 
more  often  as  if  I  were  a  ghost  among  them  — 
at  all  times  as  if  we  were  not  consubstantial. 

"  The  class  that  ought  to  be  kept  separate  name  it 
from  all  others"  —  and  this  said  by  one  of  bkeak^it 
themselves !  O  what  a  confession  that  it  is  no 
longer  separated!  Who  would  have  said  this 
even  fifty  years  ago  ?  It  is  the  howling  of  ice 
during  a  thaw.  When  there  is  any  just  reason 
for  saying  this,  it  ought  not  to  be  said,  it  is  al- 
ready too  late.  And  though  it  may  receive  the 
assent  of  the  people  of  "  the  squares  and  places," 
yet  what  does  that  do,  if  it  be  the  ridicule  of  all 
other  classes  ? 

167 


ANIMA  POETiE 


THE  DAN- 
GER OF 
OVER- 
BLAMINO 


The  general  experience,  or  rather  supposed 
experience,  prevails  over  the  particular  know- 
ledge. So  many  causes  oppose  man  to  man, 
that  he  begins  by  thinking  of  other  men  worse 
than  they  deserve,  and  receives  his  punishment 
by  at  last  thinking  worse  of  himself  than  the 
truth  is. 


SELF' 
ESTEEM 


EXCESS  OF  Expressions  of  honest  self-esteem,  in  which 
self  was  only  a  diagram  of  the  genus,  will  excite 
sympathy  at  the  minute,  and  yet,  even  among 
persons  who  love  and  esteem  you,  be  remembered 
and  quoted  as  ludicrous  instances  of  strange  self- 
involution. 


DEFECT 
OF  SELF- 
ESTEEM 

May  23, 
1808 


Those  who  think  lowliest  of  themselves,  per- 
haps with  a  feeling  stronger  than  rational  com- 
parison would  justify,  are  apt  to  feel  and  express 
undue  asperity  for  the  faults  and  defects  of  those 
whom  they  habitually  have  looked  up  to  as  to 
their  superiors.  For  placing  themselves  very 
low,  perhaps  too  low,  wherever  a  series  of  ex- 
periences, struggled  against  for  a  while,  have 
at  length  convinced  the  mind  that  in  such  and 
such  a  moral  habit  the  long-idolized  superior  is 
far  below  even  itself,  the  grief  and  anger  will 
be  in  proportion.  "  If  even  /  coidd  never  have 
done  this,  O  anguish,  that  he,  so  much  my  supe- 
rior, should  do  it !  If  even  I  with  all  my  infirmi- 
ties have  not  this  defect,  this  selfishness,  that  he 
should  have  it !  "  This  is  the  course  of  thought. 
Men  are  bad  enough ;  and  yet  they  often  think 
themselves  worse  than  they  are,  among  other 
causes  by  a  reaction  from  their  own  uncharitable 
168 


ANIMA  POET^ 

thoughts.     The  poisoned  chalice  is  brought  back 
to  our  own  lips. 

He  was  grown,  and  solid  from  his  infancy,  a  practi- 
like  that  most  usefid  of  domesticated  animals, 
that  never  runs  but  with  some  prudent  motive 
to  the  mast  or  the  wash-tub,  and,  at  no  time  a 
slave  to  the  present  moment,  never  even  grunts 
over  the  acorns  before  him  without  a  scheming 
squint,  and  the  segment,  at  least,  of  its  wise  little 
eye  cast  toward  those  on  one  side,  which  his 
neighbor  is  or  may  be  about  to  enjoy. 

Quaere,  whether  the  high  and  mighty  Edin-  lucus  a 
burghers,  etc.,  have  not  been  elevated  into  guar-  lucendo 
dians  and  overseers  of  taste  and  poetry  for  much 
the  same  reason  as  St.  Cecilia  was  chosen  as  the 
guardian  goddess  of  music,  because,  forsooth,  so 
far  from  being  able  to  compose  or  play  herself, 
she  could  never  endure  any  other  instrument 
than  the  jew's-harp  or  Scotch  bagpipe  ?  No ! 
too  eager  recensent!  you  are  mistaken,  there  is 
no  anachronism  in  this.  We  are  informed  by 
various  antique  bas-reliefs  that  the  bagpipe  wa& 
well  known  to  the  Romans,  and  probably,  there- 
fore, that  the  Picts  and  Scots  were  even  then 
fond  of  seeking  their  fortune  in  other  coim- 
tries. 

"Love  is  the  spirit  of  life,  and  music  the  life  love  and' 

(.   ,  T  ...    „  MUSIC 

01  the  spirit. 

Q.  What  is  music?  A.  Poetry  in  its  grand 
sense !  Passion  and  order  at  once  !  Imperative 
power  in  obedience ! 

Q.  What  is  the  first  and  divinest  strain  of 
169 


ANIMA  POET^ 


COX- 
SCIENCE 
AND  IM- 
MORTAL- 
ITY 


music?  A.  In  the  intellect:  "Be  able  to  will 
that  thy  maxims  (rules  of  individual  conduct) 
should  be  the  law  of  all  intelligent  being !  " 

In  the  heart,  or  practical  reason,  "  Do  unto 
others  as  thou  wouldst  be  done  by."  This  in 
the  widest  extent  involves  the  test,  "Love  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself,  and  God  above  all  things." 
For,  conceive  thy  being  to  be  all-including,  that 
is,  God  —  thou  knowest  that  thou  wouldest  com- 
mand thyself  to  be  beloved  above  all  things. 

[For  the  motto  at  the  head  of  this  note  see  the 
lines  "  Ad  Vilmum  Axiologum,"  P.  W.,  1893, 
p.  138.] 

From  what  reasons  do  I  believe  in  continuous 
and  ever-continuable  consciousness  ?  From  con- 
science !  Not  for  myself,  but  for  my  conscience, 
that  is,  my  affections  and  duties  towards  others, 
I  should  have  no  self  —  for  self  is  definition,  but 
all  boundary  implies  neighborhood,  and  is  know- 
able  only  by  neighborhood  or  relations.  Does 
the  understanding  say  nothing  in  favor  of  im- 
mortality ?  It  says  nothing  for  or  against ;  but 
its  silence  gives  consent,  and  is  better  than  a 
thousand  arguments  such  as  mere  understanding 
could  afford.  But  miracles  !  "  Do  you  speak 
of  them  as  proofs  or  as  natural  consequences  of 
revelation,  whose  presence  is  proof  only  by  pre- 
cluding the  disproof  that  would  arise  from  their 
absence  ?  "  "  Nay,  I  sjDcak  of  them  as  of  posi- 
tive fundamental  proofs."  Then  I  dare  answer 
you,  "  Miracles  in  that  sense  are  blasphemies  in 
morality,  contradictions  in  reason.  God  the 
Truth,  the  actuality  of  logic,  the  very  logos  — 
He  deceive  his  creatures  and  demonstrate  the 
170 


ANIMA   POET.E 

properties  of  a  triangle  by  the  confusion  of  all 
properties !  If  a  miracle  racFely  means  an  event 
before  inexperienced,  it  proves  only  itself,  and 
the  inexperience  of  mankind.  Whatever  other 
definition  be  given  of  it,  or  rather  attempted 
(for  no  other  not  involving  direct  contradiction 
can  be  given),  it  is  blasphemy.  It  calls  dark- 
ness light,  and  makes  Ignorance  the  mother  of 
Malignity,  the  appointed  nurse  of  religion  — 
which  is  knowledge  as  opposed  to  mere  calculat- 
ing and  conjectural  understanding.  Seven  years 
ago  —  but  oh !  in  what  happier  times  —  I  wrote 
thus  — 

O  ye  hopes !  that  stir  -within  me ! 

Health  come  with  you  from  above  1 
God  is  with  me !     God  is  in  me ! 

I  cannot  die ;  for  life  is  love ! 

And  now,  that  I  am  alone  and  utterly  hopeless 
for  myself,  yet  still  I  love  ;  and  more  strongly 
than  ever  feel  that  conscience  or  the  duty  of 
love  is  the  proof  of  continuing,  as  it  is  the  cause 
and  condition  of  existing  consciousness.  How 
beautiful  the  harmony !  Whence  could  the 
proof  come,  so  appropriately,  so  conformly  with 
all  nature,  in  which  the  cause  and  condition  of 
each  thing  is  its  revealing  and  infallible  pro- 
phecy ! 

And  for  what  reason,  say,  rather,  for  what 
cause,  do  you  believe  immortality?  Because  I 
ought,  therefore  I  must  f 

[The  lines  "  On  revisiting  the  Seashore,"  of 
which  the  last  stanza  is  quoted,  were  written  in 
August,  1801.  [P.  TT.,  1853,  p.  159.]  If  the 
note  was  written  exactly  seven  years  after  the 
date  of  that  poem,  it  must  belong  to  the  summer 
171 


ANIMA  POETiE 

of  1808,  when  Coleridge  was  living  over  the 
Courier  ofifiee  in  the  Strand.] 

THE  CAP  Truly,  I  hope  not  irreverently,  may  we  apply 
LIBERTY  to  the  French  nation  the  Scriptnre  text,  "  From 
him  that  hath  nothing  shall  be  taken  that  which 
he  hath  "  —  that  is,  their  pretences  to  being  free, 
which  are  the  same  as  nothing.  They,  the 
illuminators,  the  discoverers  and  sole  possessors 
of  the  true  philosopher's  stone !  Alas !  it  proved 
both  for  them  and  Europe  the  Lapis  Infer- 
nalis. 

VAIN-  Lord  of  light  and  fire  ?    What  is  the  universal 

of  man  in  all,  but  especially  in  savage  states  ? 
Fantastic  ornament  and,  in  general,  the  most 
frightful  deformities  —  slits  in  the  ears  and  nose, 
for  instance.  What  is  the  solution  ?  Man  will 
not  be  a  mere  thing  of  nature :  he  will  be 
and  show  himself  a  power  of  himself.  Hence 
these  violent  disruptions  of  himself  from  all 
other  creatures!  What  they  are  made,  that 
they  remain,  —  they  are  Nature's,  and  wholly 
Nature's. 


OF  A 

LARGER 

GROWTH 


CHILDREN  Try  to  contemplate  mankind  as  children. 
These  we  love  tenderly,  because  they  are  beauti- 
ful and  happy ;  we  know  that  a  sweetmeat  or  a 
top  will  transfer  their  little  love  for  a  moment, 
and  that  we  shall  be  repelled  with  a  grimace. 
Yet  we  are  not  offended. 


ciiYMicAL      I  am  persuaded  that  the  chymical  technology, 
as  far  as  it  was  borrowed  from  life  and  intelli- 
gence, half  metaphorically,  half  mystically,  may 
172 


ANALO- 
GIES 


ANIMA  POETiE 

be  brought  back  again  (as  when  a  man  borrows 
of  another  a  sum  which  the  latter  had  previously- 
borrowed  of  him,  because  he  is  too  polite  to 
remind  him  of  a  debt)  to  the  use  of  psychology 
in  many  instances,  and,  above  all,  [may  be  re- 
adapted  to]  the  philosophy  of  language,  which 
ought  to  be  experimentative  and  analytic  of  the 
elements  of  meaning  —  their  double,  triple,  and 
quadruple  combinations,  of  simple  aggregation 
or  of  composition  by  balance  of  opposition. 

Thus  innocence  is  distinguished  from  virtue, 
and  vice  versa.  In  both  of  them  there  is  a 
positive,  but  in  each  opposite.  A  decomposition 
must  take  place  in  the  first  instance,  and  then 
a  new  composition,  in  order  for  innocence  to 
become  virtue.  It  loses  a  positive,  and  then 
the  base  attracts  another  different  positive,  by 
the  higher  affinity  of  the  same  base  under  a 
different  temperature  for  the  latter. 

I  stated  the  legal  use  of  the  innocent  as  op- 
posed to  mere  not  guilty  (he  was  not  only 
acquitted,  but  was  proved  innocent),  only  to 
show  the  existence  of  a  positive  in  the  former  — 
by  no  means  as  confounding  this  use  of  the  word 
with  the  moral  pleasurable  feeling  connected 
with  it  when  used  of  little  children,  maidens,  and 
those  who  in  mature  age  preserve  this  sweet  fra- 
grance of  vernal  life,  this  mother's  gift  and  so- 
seldom-kept  keepsake  to  her  child,  as  she  sends 
him  forth  into  the  world.  The  distinction  is 
obvious.  Law  agnizes  actions  alone,  and  charac- 
ter only  as  presumptive  or  illustrative  of  partic- 
ular action  as  to  its  guilt  or  non-guilt,  or  to  the 
commission  or  non-commission.  But  our  moral 
feelings  are  never  pleasurably  excited  except  as 
173 


ANIMA  POETaE 

they  refer  to  a  state  of  being ;  and  the  most 
glorious  actions  do  not  delight  us  as  separate 
acts,  or  rather  facts,  but  as  representatives  of 
the  being  of  the  agent,  —  mental  stenographs 
which  bring  an  indeterminate  extension  within 
the  field  of  easy  and  simultaneous  vision,  —  dif- 
fused being  rendered  visible  by  condensation. 
Only  for  the  hero's  sake  do  we  exult  in  the  heroic 
act,  or,  rather,  the  act  abstracted  from  the  hero 
would  no  longer  appear  to  us  heroic.  Not,  there- 
fore, solely  from  the  advantage  of  poets  and  histo- 
rians do  the  deeds  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome 
strike  us  into  admiration,  while  we  relate  the  very 
same  deeds  of  barbarians  as  matters  of  curiosity, 
but  because  in  the  former  we  refer  the  deed  to  the 
individual  exaltation  of  the  agent,  in  the  latter 
only  to  the  physical  result  of  a  given  state  of  so- 
ciety. Compare  the  heroism  of  the  Swiss  patriot, 
with  his  bundle  of  spears  turned  towards  his 
breast,  in  order  to  break  the  Austrian  pikemen, 
and  that  of  the  Mamelid^e,  related  to  me  by  Sir 
Alexander  Ball,  who,  when  his  horse  refused  to 
plunge  in  on  the  French  line,  turned  round  and 
hacked  it  on  them,  with  a  certainty  of  death,  in 
order  to  effect  the  same  purijose.  In  the  former, 
the  state  of  mind  arose  from  reason,  morals, 
liberty,  the  sense'  of  the  duty  owing  to  the  inde- 
pendence of  his  country,  and  its  continuing  in  a 
state  compatible  with  the  highest  perfection  and 
development ;  while  the  latter  was  predicative 
only  of  mere  animal  habit,  ferocity,  and  unrea- 
soned antipathy  to  strangere  of  a  different  dress 
and  religion. 

If,  contrary  to  my  expectations,  —  alas !  al- 
174 


ANIMA  POET^ 

most,  I  fear,  to  my  wishes,  —  I  should  live,  it  is  books  in 
my  intention  to  make  a  catalogue  of  the  Greek 
and  Latin  Classics,  and  of  those  who,  like  the 
author  of  the  Argcnis  [William  Barclay,  1546- 
1G05],  and  Euphormio,  Fnicastorius,  Flaminius, 
etc.,  deserve  that  name  though  moderns  —  and 
every  year  to  apply  all  my  book-money  to  the  grad- 
ual completion  of  the  collection,  and  buy  no  other 
books  except  German,  if  the  Continent  should  be 
opened  again,  except  Massinger,  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher,  and  Jonson.  The  two  last  I  have,  I  be- 
lieve, but  imperfect  —  indeed,  B.  and  F.  worth- 
less, the  best  plays  omitted.  It  would  be  a 
pleasing  employment,  had  I  health,  to  translate 
the  Hymns  of  Homer,  with  a  disquisitional 
attempt  to  settle  the  question  concerning  the 
personality  of  Homer.  Such  a  thing  in  two  vol- 
umes, well  done,  by  philosophical  notes  on  the 
mythology  of  the  Greeks,  distinguishing  the  sa- 
cerdotal from  the  poetical,  and  both  from  the 
philosopliical  or  allegorical,  fairly  grown  into 
two  octavos,  might  go  a  good  way,  if  not  all  the 
way,  to  the  Bipontine  Latin  and  Greek  Classics. 

I  almost  fear  that  the  alteration  would  excite  a  tcrtle- 
surprise  and   uneasy  contempt  in   Verbidigno's  house-^^ '* 
mind  (towards  one  less  loved,  at  least)  ;  but  had  ^^^^  ^^'^ 
I  written  the  sweet  tale  of  the  "  Blind  Hig-hland 
Boy,"  I  would  have  substituted  for  the  washing- 
tub,  and  the  awkward  stanza  in  which  it  is  speci- 
fied, the  images  suggested  in  the  following  lines 
from  Dampier's  Travels,  vol.  i.  pp.  105,  106  :  "  I 
heard  of  a  monstrous  green  turtle  once  taken  at 
the  Port  Royal,  in  the  Bay  of  Campeachy,  that 
was  four  feet  deep  from   the  back  to  the  belly, 
175 


ANIMA  POET.E 


THE 

TENDER 
MEKCIES 
OF  THE 
GOOD 


and  the  belly  six  feet  broad.  Captain  Rock's 
son,  of  about  nine  or  ten  years  of  age,  went  in  it, 
as  in  a  boat,  on  board  bis  father's  ship,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  shore."  And  a  few 
lines  before  :  "  The  green  turtle  are  so  called 
because  their  shell  is  greener  than  any  other. 
It  is  very  thin  and  clear,  and  better  clouded  than 
the  Hawksbill,  but  't  is  used  only  for  inlays^ 
being  extraordinary  thin."  Why  might  not 
some  mariners  have  left  this  shell  on  the  shore 
of  Loch  Leven  for  a  while,  about  to  have  trans- 
ported it  inland  for  a  curiosity,  and  the  blind 
boy  have  found  it  ?  Would  not  the  incident  be 
in  equal  keeping  with  that  of  the  child,  as  well  as 
the  image  and  tone  of  romantic  uncommonness  ? 

[  "  In  deference  to  the  opinion  of  a  friend," 
this  substitution  took  place.  A  promise  made  to 
Sara  Coleridge  to  re-instate  the  washing-tub  was, 
alas !  never  fulfilled.  See  Poetical  Works  of 
W.  Wordsworth,  1859,  pp.  197,  and  200  foot- 
note.'\ 

Tremendous  as  a  Mexican  god  is  a  strong 
sense  of  duty  —  separate  from  an  enlarged  and 
discriminating  mind,  and  gigantically  dispropor- 
tionate to  the  size  of  the  understanding  ;  and 
if  combined  with  obstinacy  of  self-opinion  and 
indocility,  it  is  the  parent  of  tyranny,  a  pro- 
moter of  inquisitorial  persecution  in  public  life, 
and  of  inconceivable  misery  in  private  families. 
Nay,  the  very  virtue  of  the  person,  and  the  con- 
sciousness that  it  is  sacrificing  its  own  happi- 
ness, increases  the  obduracy,  and  selects  those 
whom  it  best  loves  for  its  objects.  Eoque  im- 
176 


ANIMA   POET.E 

mitior  quia   ipse  tolerat  (not  toleraveraf)  is  its 
inspiration  and  watchword. 

A  nation  of  reformers  looks  like  a   scourer  of  hints  for 
silver-plate  —  black    all    over   and   dingy,    with  fkiend  " 
making  things  white  and  brilliant. 

A  joint  combination  of  authors  leagued  to- 
gether to  declaim  for  or  against  liberty  may  be 
compared  to  Buff  on 's  collection  of  smooth  mirrors 
in  a  vast  fan  arranged  to  form  one  focus.  May 
there  not  be  gimpowder  as  well  as  com  set  before 
it,  and  the  latter  will  not  thrive,  but  become 
cinders  ? 

A  good  conscience  and  hope  combined  are  like 
fine  weather  that  reconciles  travel  with  delig^ht. 

Great  exploits,  and  the  thirst  of  honor  which 
they  inspire,  enlarge  states  by  enlarging  hearts. 

The  rejection  of  the  love  of  glory  without  the 
admission  of  Christianity  is,  truly,  human  dark- 
ness lacking  human  light. 

Heaven  preserve  me  from  the  modern  epidemic 
of  a  j)roud  ignorance  ! 

Hypocrisy,  the  deadly  crime  which,  like  Judas, 
kisses  Hell  at  the  lips  of  Redemption. 

Is  't  then  a  mystery  so  great,  what  God,  and 
the  man,  and  the  world  is  ?     No,  but  we  hate  to 
hear !     Hence  a  mystery  it  remains, 
177 


I.NG  BELLS 


ANIMA  POETiE 

The  massy  misery  so  prettily  hidden  with  the 
gold  aud  silver  leaf  —  hracteata  felicltas. 

ooNCEKx-  If  I  have  leisure,  I  may,  perhaps,  write  a  wild 
rhyme  on  the  Bell^  from  the  mine  to  the  belfry, 
aud  take  for  my  motto  aud  Chapter  of  Contents, 
the  two  distichs,  but  especially  the  latter,  — 

Laudo  Deiim  verum,  plebem  voeo,  congrego  clerum : 
Defunctos  ploro,  pesteni  fiigo,  festa  decoro. 
Fiinera  plango,  f ulgiira  f rango,  sabbata  pango : 
Excito  lentos,  dissipo  ventos,  paco  cruentos. 

The  wagon-horse  celsa  cervice  eminens  clarum- 
que  jactans  tintlnnahulum.  Item,  the  cattle  on 
the  river,  and  vaUey  of  dark  pines  and  firs  in  the 
Hartz. 

The  army  of  Clotharius  besieging  Sens  were 
frightened  away  by  the  bells  of  St.  Stephen's, 
rung  by  the  contrivance  of  Lupus,  Bishop  of 
Orleans. 

For  ringing  the  largest  bell,  as  a  Passing-bell, 
a  high  price  was  wont  to  be  paid,  because  being 
heard  afar  it  both  kept  the  evil  spirits  at  a  greater 
distance,  and  gave  the  chance  of  the  greater  num- 
ber of  prayers  pro  mortuo,  from  the  pious  who 
heard  it. 

Names  of  saints  were  given  to  bells  that  it 
might  appear  the  voice  of  the  Saint  himself  call- 
ing to  prayer.     Man  will  humanize  all  things. 

[It  is  strange  that  Coleridge  should  make  no 
mention   of  Schiller's    "  Song  of  the  Bell,"  of 

178 


ANIMA   POET^ 

which  he  must,  at  any  rate,  have  heard  the  title. 
Possibly  the  idea  remained  though  its  source  was 
forgotten.  The  Latin  distichs  were  introduced 
by  Longfellow  in  his  "  Golden  Legend." 

Of  the  cow-bells  in  the  Hartz  he  gives  the  fol- 
lowing account  in  an  unpublished  letter  to  his 
wife:  April-May,  1799.  "But  low  down  in 
the  valley  and  in  little  companies  on  each  bank 
of  the  river  a  multitude  of  green  conical  fir-trees, 
with  herds  of  cattle  wandering  about,  almost 
every  one  with  a  cylindrical  bell  around  its  neck, 
of  no  inconsiderable  size.  And  as  they  moved, 
scattered  over  the  narrow  vale,  and  up  among 
the  trees  of  the  hill,  the  noise  was  like  that  of  a 
great  city  in  the  stillness  of  the  Sabbath  morn- 
ing, where  all  the  steeples,  all  at  once,  are  ringing 
for  Church.  The  whole  was  a  melancholy  scene 
and  quite  new  to  me."] 

179 


CHAPTER  Vn. 


isio. 


A  PIOUS 
ASPIRA- 
TION 


O  dare  I  accuse 
My  earthly  lot  as  guilty  of  my  spleen, 
Or  call  my  destiny  niggard  !     O  no !  no  ! 
It  is  her  largeness,  and  her  overflow, 
Which  being  incomplete,  disquieteth  me  so  ! 


S.  T.  C. 


My  own  faculties,  cloudy  as  they  may  be,  will 
be  a  sufficient  direction  to  me  in  plain  daylight, 
but  my  friend's  wish  shall  be  the  pillar  of  fire  to 
guide  me  darkling  in  my  nightly  march  through 
the  wilderness. 


THOUGHT 
AND  AT- 
TENTION 


Thought  and  attention  are  very  different 
things.  I  never  expected  the  former  (viz., 
selbst-thatige  Erzeugung  dessen,  wovon  meine 
Rede  war^  from  the  readers  oi  The  Frieiid.  I 
did  expect  the  latter,  and  was  disappointed. 
Jan.  3,  1810. 

This  is  a  most  important  distinction,  and  in  the 
new  light  afforded  by  it  to  my  mind,  I  see  more 
plainly  why  mathematics  cannot  be  a  substitute 
for  logic,  much  less  for  metaphysics,  that  is,  tran- 
scendental logic,  and  why,  therefore,  Cambridge 
has  produced  so  few  men  of  genius  and  original 
power  since  the  time  of  Newton.  Not  only  it 
does  not  call  forth  the  balancing  and  discriminat- 
ing power  [that  I  saw  long  ago],  but  it  requires 
only  attention^  not  thought  or  self-production. 


The  man  who  squares  his  conscience  by  the 
180 


ANIMA   POET^ 

law,"  was,  formerly,  a  phrase  for  a  prudent  vil-  law  and 
lain,  an  unj)rincipled  coward.  At  present  the 
law  takes  in  everything  —  the  things  most  incon- 
gruous with  its  nature,  as  the  moral  motive,  and 
even  the  feelings  of  sensibility  resulting  from  ac- 
cidents of  cultivation,  novel-reading,  for  instance. 
If,  therefore,  at  all  times  the  law  would  be  found 
to  have  a  much  greater  influence  on  the  actions 
of  men  than  men  generally  suppose,  or  the  agents 
were  themselves  conscious  of,  this  influence  we 
must  expect  to  find  augmented  at  the  j)resent 
time  in  proportion  to  the  encroachments  of  the  law 
on  religion,  the  moral  sense,  and  the  sympathies 
engendered  by  artificial  rank.  Examine  this 
and  begin,  for  instance,  with  reviews,  and  so  on 
through  the  common  legal  inunoralities  of  life,  in 
the  pursuits  and  pleasures  of  the  higher  half  of 
the  middle  classes  of  society  in  Great  Britain. 

"  Hence  (i.  e.,  from  servile  and  thrall-like  catholic 
fear)  men  came  to  scan  the  Scriptures  by  the 
letter  and  in  the  covenant  of  our  redemption 
magnified  the  external  signs  more  than  the 
quickening  power  of  the  Spirit."  —  Milton's 
Review  of  Church  Government,  vol.  i.  p.  2. 

It  were  not  an  unpleasiug  fancy,  nor  one 
wholly  unworthy  of  a  serious  and  charitable 
Christianity,  to  derive  a  shadow  of  hope  for  the 
conversion  and  purification  of  the  Roman  Apos- 
tasy from  the  conduct  and  character  of  St.  Peter 
as  shadowing  out  the  history  of  the  Latin  Church, 
whose  ruling  pastor  calls  himself  the  successor 
of  that  saint.  Thus,  by  proud  humility,  he 
hazarded  the  loss  of  his  heavenly  portion  in  ob- 
jecting to  Christ's  taking  upon  himself  a  lowly 
181 


ANIMA  POET^ 

office  and  character  of  a  servant  (hence  the 
pomps  and  vanities  with  which  Rome  has 
tricked  out  her  bishops,  etc.),  the  eager  drawing 
of  the  fleshly  sword  in  defence  of  Christ;  the 
denying  of  Christ  at  the  cross  (in  the  apostasy)  ; 
but,  finally,  his  bitter  repentance  at  the  third 
crowing  of  the  cock  (perhaps  Wickliffe  and  Huss 
the  first,  Luther  the  second,  and  the  third  yet  to 
come  —  or,  pei-haps  Wickliffe  and  Luther  the 
first,  the  second  may  be  the  present  state  of 
humiliation,  and  the  third  yet  to  come).  After 
this  her  eyes  will  be  opened  to  the  heavenly 
vision  of  the  universal  acceptance  of  Christ  of 
all  good  men  of  all  sects,  that  is,  that  faith  is  a 
moral,  not  an  intellectual  act. 

THE  IDEAL      On  somc  delightful  day  in  early  spring  some 

MARRIAGE       /»  .  1       11  xl  •  £ 

01  my  countrymen  hallow  the  anniversary  oi 
their  marriage,  and  with  love  and  fear  go  over 
the  reckoning  of  the  past  and  the  unknown 
future.  Thd  wife  tells  with  half -renewed  mod- 
esty all  the  sweet  feelings  that  she  disguised  and 
cherished  in  the  courting-time ;  the  man  looks 
with  a  tear  full  in  his  eye  and  blesses  the  hour 
when  for  the  first  time  (and  oh!  let  it  be  the 
last)  he  spake  deep  and  solemn  to  a  beloved 
being:  "Thou  art  mine  and  I  am  thine,  and 
henceforward  I  shield  and  shelter  [thee]  against 
the  world,  and  thy  sorrows  shall  be  my  sorrows, 
and  though  abandoned  by  all  men,  we  two  will 
abide  together  in  love  and  duty." 

In  the  holy  eloquent  solitude  where  the  very 

stars  that  twinkle  seem  to  be  a  voice  that  suits 

the  dream,  a  voice  of  a  dream,  a  voice  soundless 

and  yet  for  the  ear  not  the  eye  of  the  soul,  when 

182 


ANIMA  POET^ 

the  winged  soul  passes  over  vale  and  mountain, 
sinks  into  glens,  and  then  climbs  with  the  cloud, 
and  passes  from  cloud  to  cloud,  and  thence  from 
sun  to  sun  —  never  is  she  alone.  Always  one, 
the  dearest,  accompanies,  and  even  when  he 
melts,  diffused  in  the  blue  sky,  she  melts  at 
the  same  moment  into  union  with  the  beloved. 


That  our  religious  faiths,  by  the  instincts  a  super- 
which  lead  us  to  metaphysical  investigation,  entity 
are  founded  in  a  practical  necessity,  not  a 
mere  intellectual  craving  after  knowledge,  and 
systematic  conjecture,  is  evinced  by  the  interest 
which  all  men  take  in  the  questions  of  future 
existence,  and  the  being  of  God ;  while  even 
among  those  who  are  speculative  by  profession 
a  few  phantasts  only  have  troubled  themselves 
with  the  questions  of  preexistence,  or  with 
attempts  to  demonstrate  the  posse  and  esse  of  a 
devil.  But  in  the  latter  case  more  is  involved. 
Concerning  preexistence  men  in  general  have 
neither  care  nor  belief ;  but  a  devil  is  taken  for 
granted,  and,  if  we  might  trust  words,  with  the 
same  faith  as  a  Deity,  "  He  neither  believes 
God  or  devil."  And  yet,  while  we  are  delighted 
in  hearing  proofs  of  the  one,  we  never  think  of 
asking  a  simple  question  concerning  the  other. 
This,  too,  originates  in  a  practical  source.  The 
Deity  is  not  a  mere  solution  of  difficulties  con- 
cerning origination,  but  a  truth  which  spreads 
light  and  joy  and  hope  and  certitude  through  all 
things — while  a  devil  is  a  mere  solution  of  an 
enigma,  an  assumj)tion  to  silence  our  uneasiness. 
That  end  answered  (and  most  easily  are  such 
183 


LOGY  IN 
YOUTH 
AND 
MATURITY 


ANIMA  POET^ 

ends   answered),   we  have  no   further   concern 
with  it. 

PSYCHO-  The  great  change  —  that  in  youth  and  early 
manhood  we  psychologize  and  with  enthusiasm 
but  all  out  of  ourselves,  and  so  far  ourselves 
only  as  we  descry  therein  some  general  law. 
Our  own  self  is  but  the  diagram,  the  triangle 
which  represents  all  triangles.  Afterward  we 
psychologize  out  of  others,  and  so  far  as  they 
differ  from  ourselves  —  O  how  hollowly ! 

HAIL  AND  We  have  been  for  many  years  at  a  great  dis- 
well'i  tance  from  each  other,  but  that  may  happen  with 
no  real  breach  of  friendship.  All  intervening 
nature  is  the  continuum  of  two  good  and  wise 
men.  We  are  now  separated.  You  have  com- 
bined arsenic  with  your  gold.  Sir  Humphry ! 
You  are  brittle,  and  I  will  rather  dine  with 
Duke  Humphry  than  with  you. 


A  GENUINE      Sara  Coleridge  says,  on  telling  me  of  the  unl- 
DOTE^'       versal  sneeze  produced  on  the  lasses  while  shak- 
ing my  carpet,  that  she  wishes  my  snuff  would 
grow^  as  I  sow  it  so  plentifully ! 

[This  points  to  the  summer  of  1810,  the  five 
months  spent  at  Greta  Hall  previous  to  the 
departure  south  with  Basil  Montagu.] 

SPIRITUAL  A  thing  cannot  be  one  and  three  at  the  same 
time !  True !  but  time  does  not  apply  to  God. 
He  is  neither  one  in  time  nor  three  in  time,  for 
he  exists  not  in  time  at  all  —  the  Eternal ! 

The  truly  religious  man,  when  he  is  not  con- 
veying his  feelings  and  beliefs  to  other  men,  and 
184 


ANIMA   POETiE 

does  not  need  the  medium  of  words  —  O  I  how 
little  does  he  find  in  his  religious  sense  either  of 
form  or  of  number  —  it  is  infinite  !  Alas  !  why 
do  we  all  seek  by  instinct  for  a  God,  a  supersensual, 
but  because  we  feel  the  insufficiency,  the  unsub- 
stantiality  of  aXi.  forms ^  and  formal  being  for  it- 
self. And  shall  we  explain  a  by  x,  and  then  x 
by  a  —  give  a  soul  to  the  body,  and  then  a  body 
to  the  soul  —  ergo^  a  body  to  the  body  —  feel  the 
weakness  of  the  weak,  and  call  in  the  strength- 
ener,  and  then  make  the  very  weakness  the  sub- 
stratum of  the  strength  ?  This  is  worse  than 
the  poor  Indian  !  Even  he  does  not  make  the 
tortoise  support  the  elephant,  and  yet  put  the 
elephant  under  the  tortoise  ! 

But  we  are  too  social,  we  become  in  a  sort 
idolaters,  for  the  means  we  are  obliged  to  use 
to  excite  notions  of  truth  in  the  minds  of  others 
we  by  witchcraft  of  slothful  association  impose  on 
ourselves  for  the  truths  themselves.  Our  intel- 
lectual bank  stops  payment,  and  we  pass  an  act 
by  acclamation  that  hereafter  the  paper  promises 
shall  be  the  gold  and  silver  itself,  and  ridicule 
a  man  for  a  dreamer  and  reviver  of  antiquated 
dreams  who  believes  that  gold  and  silver  exist. 
This  may  do  as  well  in  the  market,  but  O  !  for 
the  luiiversal,  for  the  man  himseK,  the  difference 
is  woeful. 

The  immense  difference  between  being  glad  to  truth 
find  Truth  it^  and  to  find  it  Truth  !  O !  I  am 
ashamed  of  those  who  praise  me !  For  I  know 
that  as  soon  as  I  tell  them  my  mind  on  another 
subject,  they  will  shrink  and  abhor  me.  For  not 
because  I  enforced  a  truth  were  they  pleased  in 
185 


ANBIA  POETiE 

the  first  instance,  but  because  I  had  supported  a 
favorite  notion  of  theirs  which  they  loved  for  its 
and  their  sake,  and  therefore  woukl  be  glad  to 
find  it  true  —  not  that  loving  Truth  they  loved 
this  opinion  as  one  of  its  forms  and  consequences. 
The  root !  the  root  must  be  attacked ! 

A  TIME  TO  Among  the  evils  that  attend  a  conscientious 
author  who  writes  in  a  corrupt  age  is  the  ne- 
cessity he  is  under  of  exposing  himself  even  to 
plausible  charges  of  envy,  mortified  vanity,  and, 
above  all,  of  self-conceit  before  those  whose  bad 
passions  woidd  make  even  the  most  improbable 
charges  plausible. 

What  can  he  do  ?  Tell  the  truth,  and  the 
whole  truth  plainly,  and  with  the  natural  affec- 
tion which  it  inspires,  and  keeping  off  (difficult 
task !)  all  scorn  (for  to  suppress  resentment  is 
easy),  let  him  trust  the  bread  to  the  waters  in 
the  firm  faith  that  wisdom  shall  be  justified  by 
her  children.  Vanity  !  self-conceit !  What  van- 
ity ?  what  seK-conceit  ?  What  say  I  more  than 
this  ?  Ye  who  think  and  feel  the  same  will  love 
and  esteem  me  by  the  law  of  sympathy,  and 
value  me  according  to  the  comparative  effect  I 
have  made  on  your  intellectual  powers,  in  en- 
abling you  better  to  defend  before  others,  or  more 
clearly  to  onlooh  (anschauen^  in  yourselves  the 
truths  to  which  your  noblest  being  bears  witness. 
The  rest  I  leave  to  the  judgment  of  posterity, 
utterly  unconcerned  whether  my  name  be  attached 
to  these  opinions  or  (iny  writings  forgotten) 
another  man's. 

But  what  can  I  say,  when  I  have  declared  my 
abhorrence  of  the  Edinburgh  Revieio  f  In  vain 
186 


ANIMA  POET^ 

should  I  tell  my  critics  that  were  I  placed  on  the 
rack  I  could  not  remember  ten  lines  of  my  own 
poems,  and  that  on  seeing  my  own  name  in  their 
abuse,  I  regard  it  only  as  a  symbol  of  Words- 
worth and  Southey,  and  that  I  am  well  aware  that 
from  utter  disregard  and  oblivion  of  anything 
and  all  things  which  they  can  know  of  me  by 
experience,  my  name  is  mentioned  only  because 
they  have  heard  that  I  was  Wordsworth's  and 
Southey's  friend. 

The  brightest  luminaries  of  earth  give  names  hints  for 
to  the  dusky  spots  in  the  selenography  of  Hel-  friend  " 
vetius. 

The  intrepidity  of  a  pure  conscience  and  a 
simple  principle  [may  be]  compared  to  a  life- 
boat, and  somewhat  in  the  detail,  stemming  with 
a  little  rudder  the  tumbling  ruins  of  the  sea, 
rebounding  from  the  rocks  and  shelves  In  fury. 

Duns  Scotus  affirms  that  the  certainty  of 
faith  is  the  greatest  certainty  —  a  dark  speech 
which  is  explained  and  proved  by  the  depend- 
ence of  the  theoretic  powers  on  the  practi- 
cal. But  Aristotle  admits  that  demonstrated 
truths  are  inferior  in  kind  of  certainty  to  the 
indemonstrable  out  of  which  the  former  are  de- 
duced. 

Faithful,  confident  reliance  on  man  and  on  God 
is  the  last  and  hardest  virtue  !  And  wherefore  ? 
Because  we  must  first  have  earned  a  faith 
in  ourselves.  Let  the  conscience  pronounce : 
"  Trust  in  thyself  !  "  Let  the  whole  heart  be 
187 


ANIMA  POET^ 

able  to  say,  "  I  trust  in  myself,"  and  those 
whomever  we  love  we  shall  rely  on,  in  propor- 
tion to  that  love. 

A  testy  patriot  might  be  pardoned  for  saying 
with  Falstaff,  when  Dame  Quickly  told  him 
"  She  came  from  the  two  parties,  forsooth," 
"  The  Devil  take  one  party  and  his  Dam  the 
other."  John  Bull  has  suffered  more  for  their 
sake,  more  than  even  the  supererogatory  Gullibil- 
ity of  his  disposition  is  able  to  bear. 

Lavater  fixed  on  the  simplest  physiognomy  in 
his  whole  congregation,  and  pitched  his  sermon 
to  his  comprehension.  Narcissus  either  looks  at 
or  thinks  of  his  looking-glass,  for  the  same  wise 
purpose  I  presume. 

Reviewers  resemble  often  the  English  jury 
and  the  Italian  conclave :  they  are  incapable  of 
eating  till  they  have  condemned  or  craned. 

The  Pope  [may  be  compared  to]  an  old  lark, 
who,  though  he  leaves  off  soaring  and  singing  in 
the  height,  yet  has  his  spurs  grow  longer  and 
sharper  the  older  he  grows. 

Let  us  not,  because  the  foliage  waves  in  neces- 
sary obedience  to  every  breeze,  fancy  that  the 
tree  shakes  also.  Though  the  slender  branch 
bend,  one  moment  to  the  east  and  another  to 
the  west,  its  motion  is  circumscribed  by  its  con- 
nection with  the  unyielding  trunk. 

My   first    cries    mingled    with    my    mother's 

188 


ANIMA  POET^ 

death-groan,  and  she  beheld  the  vision  of  glory,  a  hint 
ere  I  the  earthly  sun.     When  I  first  looked  up  to  »  chris- 
Heaven  consciously,  it  was  to  look  up  after,  or  tabel  " 
for,  my  mother. 

The  two  sweet  silences  —  first  in  the  purpling  "  all 
dawn  of  love-troth,  when  the  heart  of  each  ripens  "ll  p^s-^^' 
in  the  other's  looks  within  the  unburst  calyx,  ^^'^^^i  all 
and  fear  becomes  so  sweet  that  it  seems  but  a  lights  " 
fear  of  losing  hope  in  certainty;  the  second, 
when  the  sun  is  setting  in  the  calm  eve  of  confi- 
dent love,  and  [the  lovers]  in  mute  recollection 
enjoy  each  other.  "  I  fear  to  speak,  I  fear  to 
hear  you  speak,  so  deeply  do  I  now  enjoy  your 
presence,  so  totally  possess  you  in  myself,  my- 
self in  you.  The  very  sound  would  break  the 
union  and  separate  you-me  into  you  and  me. 
We  both,  and  this  sweet  room,  its  books,  its  fur- 
niture, and  the  shadows  on  the  wall  slumbering 
with  the  low,  quiet  fire,  are  all  our  thought,  one 
harmonious  imagery  of  forms  distinct  on  the  still 
substance  of  one  deep  feeling,  love,  and  joy  —  a 
lake,  or,  if  a  stream,  yet  flowing  so  softly,  so 
unwrinkled,  that  its  flow  is  life,  not  change  — . 
that  state  in  which  all  the  individuous  nature, 
the  distinction  without  division  of  a  vivid  thought, 
is  united  with  the  sense  and  substance  of  intens- 
est  reality." 

And  what  if  joy  pass  quick  away  ?  Long 
is  the  track  of  Hope  before  —  long,  too,  the  track 
of  recollection  after,  as  in  the  Polar  sj)ring  the 
sun  [is  seen  in  the  heavens]  sixteen  days  before 
it  really  rises,  and  in  the  Polar  autumn  ten  days 
after  it  has  set ;  so  Nature,  with  Hope  and  Rec- 
ollection, pieces  out  our  short  summer. 
189 


ANIMA  POET^ 

WORDS  N.  B.     In  my  intended  essay  in  defence  of 

THINGS      punning  (Apology   for  Parononiasy,  alias  pun- 
ning), to  defend  those  turns  of  words  — 

Che  1'  onda  chiara, 
E  1'  onibra  non  men  cara  — 

in  certain  styles  of  writing,  by  proving  that 
language  itself  is  formed  upon  associations  of 
this  kind  ;  that  possibly  the  sensus  genericus  of 
whole  classes  of  words  may  be  thus  deciphered 

\  (as  has  indeed  been  attempted  by  Mr.  White,  of 
Clare  Hall) ;  that  words  are  not  mere  symbols 

■  of  things  and  thoughts,  but  themselves  things, 
and  that  any  harmony  in  the  things  symbolized 
will  perforce  be  presented  to  us  more  easUy,  as 
well  as  with  additional  beauty,  by  a  correspond- 
ent harmony  of  the  symbols  with  each  other. 
Thus  heri  vidi  fragilerti  frangi^  hodie  morta- 
lem  mori ;  gestern  seh  ich  was  gebrechliches 
brechen,  heute  was  sterbliches  sterben,  com- 
pared with  the  English.  This  the  beauty  of 
homogeneous  languages.     So  Fern,  vidi,  vici. 

[This  note  follows  an  essay  on  Giambattista 
Strozzi's  Madrigals,  together  with  a  transcrip- 
tion of  twenty-seven  specimens.  The  substance 
of  the  essay  is  embodied  in  the  text  of  Chapter 
xvi.  of  the  Biogi^aphia  Literaria,  and  a  long 
footnote.  The  quotation  is  from  the  first  madri- 
gal, quoted  in  the  note,  which  is  not  included 
in  those  transcribed  in  Notebook  17.  —  Cole- 
ridge's Works,  iii.  (Harper  &  Brothers,  1853), 
pp.  388-393.] 

AssociA-        Important    suggestion    on  4th   March,    1810 
(Monday  night).     The  law  of  association  clearly 
190 


ANIMA  POETiE 

begins  in  common  causality.  How  continued  but 
by  a  causative  power  in  the  soul  ?  What  a 
proof  of  causation  and  power  from  the  very  law 
of  mind,  and  cluster  of  facts  adduced  by  Hume 
to  overthrow  it ! 

It  is  proud  ignorance  that,  as  a  disease  of  the  corol- 
mind,  alone  superinduces  the  necessity  of  the 
medium  of  metaphysical  philosophy.  The  errors 
into  which  a  sound,  unaffected  mind  is  led  by 
the  nature  of  things  (Things  as  the  substratum 
of  power)  —  no  errors  at  all,  any  more  than  the 
motion  of  the  sun.  "  So  it  appears  "  —  and 
that  is  most  true  —  but  when  pride  will  work 
up  these  phenomena  into  a  system  of  things  in 
themselves,  then  they  become  most  pernicious 
errors,  and  it  is  the  duty  of  true  mind  to  examine 
them  with  all  the  virtues  of  the  intellect, — 
patience,  humility,  etc. 

"  By  aid  of  a  large  portion  of  mother's  wit,  mother 
Paine,  though  an  unlearned  man,  saw  the  ab- 
surdity of  the  Christian  religion."  Mother's 
wit,  indeed  !  Wit  from  his  mother  the  earth  — 
the  earthy  and  material  wit  of  the  flesh  and  its 
lusts.  One  ounce  of  mother  wit  may  be  worth  a 
pound  of  learning,  but  a  grain  of  the  Father's 
wisdom  is  worth  a  ton  of  mother  wit  —  yea !  of 
both  together. 

"  O  it  is  but  an  infant !  't  is  but  a  child !  he  of  educa- 
will  be  better  as  he  grows  older."  "  O  I  she  '11 
grow  ashamed  of  it.  This  is  but  waywardness." 
Grant  all  this  —  that  they  will  o^^^grow  these 
particular  actions,  yet  with  what  habits  of 
191 


ANIMA  POET.E 

feeling  will  tliey  arrive  at  youth  and  manhood  ? 
Especially  with  regard  to  obedience,  how  is  it 
possible  that  they  should  struggle  against  the 
boiling  passions  of  youth  by  means  of  obedience 
to  their  own  conscience  who  are  to  meet  the 
dawn  of  conscience  with  the  broad  meridian  of 
disobedience  and  habits  of  self-willedness  ?  Be- 
sides, when  are  the  rebukes,  the  chastisements, 
to  commence  ?  Why !  about  nine  or  ten,  perhaps, 
when,  for  the  father  at  least,  [the  child]  is  less 
a  plaything  —  when,  therefore,  anger  is  not 
healed  up  in  its  mind,  either  by  its  own  infant 
versatility  and  forgetfulness,  or  by  after  ca- 
resses, —  when  everything  is  remembered  indi- 
vidually, and  sense  of  injustice  felt.  For  the 
boy  very  well  remembers  the  different  treatment 
when  he  was  a  child  ;  but  what  has  been  so  long 
permitted  becomes  a  right  to  him.  Far  better, 
in  such  a  case,  to  have  them  sent  off  to  others  — 
a  strict  schoolmaster  —  than  to  breed  that  con- 
tradiction of  feeling  toward  the  same  person 
which  subverts  the  very  jj't'inciple  of  our  im- 
pulses. Whereas,  in  a  tender,  yet  obedience- 
exacting  and  improvement-enforcing  education, 
though  very  gradually,  and  by  small  doses  at  a 
time,  yet  always  going  on  —  yea !  even  from  a 
twelvemonth  old  —  at  six  or  seven  the  child  really 
has  outgrown  all  things  that  annoy,  just  at  the 
time  when,  as  the  charm  of  infancy  begins  to 
diminish,  they  would  begin  really  to  annoy. 

There  are,  in   every  country,  times  when   the 

few  who  know  the  truth  have  clothed  it  for  the 

vulgar,  and  addressed  the  vulgar  in  the  vulgar 

language  and  modes  of  conception,  in  order  to 

192 


ANIMA  POET^ 

convey  any  part  of   the  truth.     This,  however,  the 
could  not  be  clone  with  safety,  even  to  the  illu-  ok  ai>apt- 
minati  themselves  in  the  first  instance  ;  but  to  to^the^^" 
their  successors  habit  gradually  turned   lie   into  »"^ds  of 
belief,  partial  and  stagnate  truth  into  ignorance,  vulgar 
and  the  teachers  of  the  vulgar  (like  the  Francis- 
can friars  in  the   South   of   Europe)    became  a 
part  of  the  vulgar  —  nay,   because   the   laymen 
were  oj)en  to   various   impulses   and   influences, 
wliich  their  instructors  had  built  out  (compare  a 
brook  in  open  air,  liable  to  rain-streams  and  rills 
from  new-opened  fountains,  to  the  same  rimning 
through  a  mill  guarded  by  sluice-gates  and  back- 
water), they  became  the  vulgarest  of  the  vulgar, 
till,  finally,  resolute  not  to  detach  themselves  from 
the  mob,  the  mob  at  length  detaches  itself  from 
them,  and  leaves  the  mill-race  dry,  the  moveless, 
rotten  wheels   as   day-dormitories   for   bats   and 
owls,    and   the   old   grindstones    for   wags    and 
scoffers  of  the  taproom  to  whet  their  wits  on. 

When  there  are  few  literary  men,  and  the  vast  poetry 
TWO  0  0  0  0^  of  the  population  are  ignorant,  as  was 
the  case  of  Italy  from  Dante  to  Metastasio,  from 
causes  I  need  not  here  put  down,  there  iciJl  he  a 
poetical  language  ;  but  that  a  poet  ever  uses  a 
word  as  poetical  —  that  is,  formally  —  which  he, 
in  the  same  mood  and  thought,  would  not  use  in 
prose  or  conversation,  Milton's  Prose  Works  will 
assist  us  in  disproving.  But  as  soon  as  liter- 
ature becomes  common,  and  critics  numerous  in 
any  country,  and  a  large  body  of  men  seek  to 
express  themselves  habitually  in  the  most  pre- 
cise, sensuous,  and  impassioned  words,  the  differ- 
ence as  to  mere  words  ceases,  as,  for  exami^le,  the 
193 


ANIMA  POET^ 

German  prose  writers.  Produce  to  me  one  word 
out  of  Ivlopstock,  Wieland,  Schiller,  Goethe, 
Voss,  etc.,  which  I  wiU  not  find  as  frequently 
used  in  the  most  energetic  prose  writers.  The 
sole  difference  in  style  is  that  poetry  demands  a 
severe  keeping  —  it  admits  nothing  that  prose 
may  not  often  admit,  but  it  oftener  rejects.  In 
other  words,  it  presupposes  a  more  continuous 
state  of  passion.  N.  B.  Provincialisms  of 
poets  who  have  become  the  supreme  classics  in 
countries  one  in  language  but  under  various 
states  and  governments  have  aided  this  false 
idea,  as,  in  Italy,  the  Tuscanisms  of  Dante, 
Ariosto,  and  Alfieri,  foolishly  imitated  by  Vene- 
tians, Romans,  and  Neapolitans.  How  much 
this  is  against  the  opinion  of  Dante,  see  his  ad- 
mirable treatise  on  "  Lingua  Volgare  Nobile," 
the  first,  I  believe,  of  his  prose  or  prose  and 
verse  works  ;  for  the  "  Convito  "  and  "  La  Vita 
Nuova  "  are  one  third  in  metre. 

WORLDLY  I  would  strongly  recommend  Lloyd's  "  State 
Worthies"  \^The  Statesmen  and  Favorites  of 
England  since  the  Reformation.  By  David 
Lloyd.  London,  1665-70]  as  the  manual  of 
every  man  who  would  rise  in  the  world.  In 
every  twenty  pages  it  recommends  contradic- 
tions, but  he  who  cannot  reconcile  them  for  him- 
self, and  discover  which  suits  his  plan,  can  never 
rise  in  the  world.  N.  B.  I  have  a  mind  to 
draw  a  complete  character  of  a  worldly-wise  man 
out  of  Lloyd.  He  would  be  highly  finished, 
useful,  honored,  popular  —  a  man  revered  by  his 
children,  his  wife,  and  so  forth.  To  be  sure,  he 
must  not  expect  to  be  beloved  by  one  proto- 
194 


WISE 


ANIMA  POET^ 

friend ;  and,  if  there  be  truth  in  reason  or  Chris- 
tianity, he  will  go  to  hell  —  but,  even  so,  he  will 
doubtless  secure  himself  a  most  respectable  place 
in  the  devil's  chimney-corner. 

The  falseness  of  that  so  very  common  opinion,  hints  for 
"  Mathematics,  ay,  that  is  something !  that  has  kkiend  " 
been  useful  —  but  metaphysics  !  "      Now  fairly 
compare  the  two,  what  each  has  really  done. 

But  [be  thou]  only  concerned  to  find  out 
truth,  which,  on  what  side  soever  it  appears,  is 
always  victory  to  every  honest  mind. 

Christianity,  too  (as  well  as  Platonism  and 
the  school  of  Pythagoras),  has  its  esoteric  philo- 
sophy, or  why  are  we  forbidden  to  cast  pearls 
before  swine?  But  who  are  the  swine?  Are 
they  the  poor  and  despised,  the  unalphabeted  in 
worldly  learning  ?  O,  no !  the  rich  whose  hearts 
are  steeled  by  ignorance  of  misery  and  habits 
of  receiving  slavish  obedience  —  the  dropsical 
learned  and  the  St.  Vitus  [bewitched]  sciolist. 

In  controversy  it  is  highly  useful  to  know 
whether  you  are  really  addressing  yourself  to  an 
opponent  or  only  to  partisans,  with  the  intention 
of  preserving  them  firm.  Either  is  well,  but 
they  should  never  be  commingled. 

In  her  letter  to  Lord  Willoughby  Queen  Eliz- 
abeth hath  the  word  "eloign."  There  is  no 
exact  equivalent  in  modern  use.  Neither  "  with- 
draw "  or  "  absent  "  are  precisely  synonymous. 

We  understand  nature  just  as  if,  at  a  distance, 
195 


ANIMA  POET^ 

we  looked  at  tlie  image  of  a  person  in  a  looking- 
glass,  plainly  and  fervently  discoursing,  yet  what 
he  uttered  we  could  decijjher  only  by  the  motion 
of  the  lips  or  by  his  mien. 

I  must  extract  and  transcribe  from  the  preface 
to  the  works  of  Paracelsus  that  eloquent  defence 
of  technical  new  words  and  of  old  words  used  in 
a  new  sense.  The  whole  preface  is  exceedingly 
lively,  and  (excepting  the  mountebank  defence 
of  intentional  obscurity  and  the  attack  on  logic, 
as  if  it  were  ever  intended  to  be  an  organon  of 
discovery  of  material  truth  and  directly,  instead 
of  a  formal  preliminary  assisting  the  mind  indi- 
rectly, and  showing  what  cannot  be  truth,  and 
what  has  not  been  proved  truth)  very  just. 

The  Chinese  call  the  monsoon  whirlwind, 
when  more  than  usually  fierce,  the  elephant. 
This  is  a  fine  image  —  a  mad,  wounded  war- 
elephant. 

The  poor  oppressed  Amboynese,  who  bear 
with  patience  the  extirpation  of  their  clove  and 
nutmeg  trees,  in  their  fields  and  native  woods, 
and  the  cruel  taxes  on  sugar,  their  staff  of  life, 
will  yet,  at  once  and  universally,  rise  up  in  re- 
bellion and  prepare  to  destroy  in  despair  all  and 
everything,  themselves  included,  if  any  attempt 
is  made  to  destroy  any  individual's  Tatanaman, 
the  clove-tree  which  each  Amboynese  plants  at 
the  birth  of  each  of  his  children.  Very  affect- 
ing I 

GENIUS  The  man  of  genius   places  things   in  a  new 

196 


ANIMA  POETiE 

light.  This  trivial  phrase  better  expresses  the 
appropriate  effects  of  genius  than  Pope's  cele- 
brated distich  — 

"  What  oft  was  thought  but  ne'er  so  well  exprest." 

It  has  been  thought  distinctly,  but  only  possessed, 
as  it  were,  unpacked  and  unsorted.  The  poet 
not  only  displays  what,  though  often  seen  in  its 
unfolded  mass,  had  never  been  opened  out,  but 
he  likewise  adds  something,  namely,  light  and  re- 
lations. Who  has  not  seen  a  rose,  or  sprig  of 
jasmine  or  myrtle  ?  But  behold  those  same  flow- 
ers in  a  posy  or  flower-pot,  painted  by  a  man  of 
genius,  or  assorted  by  the  hand  of  a  woman  of 
fine  taste  and  instinctive  sense  of  beauty  ? 

To  find  our  happiness  incomplete  without  the  love 
happiness  of  some  other  given  person  or  persons 
is  the  definition  of  affection  in  general,  and  ap- 
plies equally  to  friendship,  to  the  parental  and  to 
the  conjugal  relations.  But  what  is  love  ?  —  love 
as  it  may  subsist  between  two  persons  of  differ- 
ent senses  ?  This  —  and  what  more  than  this  ? 
The  mutual  dependence  of  their  happiness,  each 
on  that  of  the  other,  each  being  at  once  cause 
and  effect.  You,  therefore  I  —  I,  therefore  you. 
The  sense  of  this  reciprocity  of  well-being  is 
that  which  first  stamps  and  legitimates  the  name 
of  happiness  in  all  the  other  advantages  and  fa- 
vorable accidents  of  nature  or  fortune,  without 
which  they  would  change  their  essence  and  be- 
come like  the  curse  of  Tantalus,  insidting  remem- 
brances of  misery,  of  that  most  unquiet  of  all 
miseries,  means  of  happiness  blasted  and  trans- 
formed by  incompleteness,  nay,  by  the  loss  of 
197 


ANIMA  POET.E 

the  sole  organ   through   which  we   could  enjoy 
them. 

Suppose  a  wide  and  delightful  landscape,  and 
what  the  eye  is  to  the  light,  and  the  light  to  the 
eye,  that  interchangeably  is  the  lover  to  the  be- 
loved. "  O  best  beloved !  who  lovest  me  the  best !  " 
In  strictest  propriety  of  application  might  he 
thus  address  her,  if  only  she  with  equal  truth 
could  echo  the  same  sense  in  the  same  feeling. 
"  Light  of  mine  eye  !  by  which  alone  I  not  only 
see  all  I  see,  but  which  makes  up  more  than  half 
the  loveliness  of  the  objects  seen,  yet,  still,  like 
the  rising  sun  in  the  morning,  like  the  moon  at 
night,  remainest  thyself  and  for  thyself,  the  dear- 
est, fairest  form  of  all  the  thousand  forms  that 
derive  from  thee  all  their  visibility,  and  borrow 
from  thy  presence  their  chiefest  beauty  !  " 


COTTLE'S 
"  FREE 
VERSION 
OF  THE 
PSALMS  " 


Diamond  +  oxygen  =  charcoal.  Even  so  on 
the  fire-spark  of  his  zeal  did  Cottle  place  the 
King  David  diamonds,  and  caused  to  pass  over 
them  the  oxygenous  blast  of  his  own  inspiration, 
and  lo  !  the  diamond  becomes  a  bit  of  charcoal. 


FRIEND- 
SHIP AND 
MARRIAGE 


"  Ich  finde  alles  eher  auf  der  Erde,  so  gar 
Wahrheit  und  Freude,  als  Freundschaft." —  Jean 
Paul.i 

This  for  the  motto  —  to  examine  and  attest  the 
fact,  and  then  to  explain  the  reason.  First, 
then,  there  are  the  extraordinary  qualifications  de- 
manded for  true  friendship,  arising  from  the  mul- 
titude of  causes  that  make  men  delude  them- 
selves and  attribute  to  friendship  what  is  only  a 

1  ["  I  find  all  things  upon  earth,  even  truth  and  joy,  rather 
than  friendship."] 

198 


ANIMA  POETiE 

similarity  of  pursuit,  or  even  a  mere  dislike  of 
feeling  oneself  alone  in  anything.  But,  secondly, 
supposing  the  friendship  to  be  as  real  as  human 
nature  ordinarily  permits,  yet  how  many  causes 
are  at  constant  war  against  it,  whether  in  the 
shape  of  violent  irruptions  or  unobserved  yet 
constant  wearings  away  by  dyspathy,  etc.  Ex- 
emplify this  in  youth  and  then  in  manhood. 
First  there  is  the  influence  of  wives,  how  fre- 
quently deadly  to  friendship,  either  by  direct 
encroach,  or,  perhaps,  intentional  plans  of  alien- 
ation !  Secondly,  there  is  the  effect  of  families, 
by  otherwise  occupying  the  heart ;  and,  thirdly, 
the  action  of  life  in  general,  by  the  worldly-wise, 
chilling  effects  of  prudential  anxieties. 

Corollary.  These  reflections,  however,  suggest 
an  argument  in  favor  of  the  existing  indissolubil- 
ity of  marriage. 

To  be  compelled  to  make  it  up,  or  consent  to 
be  miserable  and  disrespected,  is  indeed  a  coarse 
plaister  for  the  wounds  of  love,  but  so  it  must  be 
while  the  patients  themselves  are  of  coarse  make 
and  unhealthy  humors. 

His  imagination,  if  it  must  be  so  called,  is  at  imagina- 
all  events  of  the  pettiest  kind  —  it  is  an  imagin- 
unculation.  How  excellently  the  German  Ein- 
hildungshraft  expresses  this  prime  and  loftiest 
faculty,  the  power  of  co-adunation,  the  faculty 
that  forms  the  many  into  one  —  in-eins-hilching  ! 
Eisenoplasy,  or  esenoplastic  power,  is  contra- 
distinguished from  fantasy,  or  the  mirrorment, 
either  catoptric  or  metoptric  —  re])eating  simply, 
or  by  transposition  —  and,  again,  involuntary 
[fantasy]  as  in  dreams,  or  by  an  act  of  the  will. 
199 


ANBIA  POETiE 

[See  Biog.  Lit.,  cap.  x.,  Coleridge's  Works, 
iii.  272.  See  also  Blachoood's  3Iagazine,  March, 
1840,  No.  ccxciii.,  Art.  "  The  Plagiarisms  of  S.  T. 
Coleridffe." 


PUBLIC 

oriNiox 

AND  THE 
SEKVICES 


Ministers,  as  in  the  Admiralty,  or  War 
Office,  compared  to  managers  of  theatres.  The 
numerous  absurd  claims  at  length  deaden  their 
sense  of  judgment  to  real  merit,  and  superin- 
duce in  the  mind  an  antici]3ation  of  clamorous 
vanity.  Hence  the  great  importance  of  the  pub- 
lic voice,  forcing  them  to  be  just.  This,  how 
illustrated  by  the  life  of  Nelson  —  the  infamous 
coldness  with  which  all  his  claims  were  received 
—  especially  Mr.  Wyndham's  answer,  July  21, 
1795.  And  no  wonder !  for  such  is  the  state  of 
moral  feeling,  even  with  the  English  public,  that 
an  instance  of  credulity  to  an  ingenious  scheme 
which  has  failed  in  the  trial  will  weigh  more 
heavily  on  a  minister's  character  than  to  have 
stifled  in  the  birth  half  a  dozen  such  men  as 
Nelson  or  Cochrane,  or  such  schemes  as  that 
of  a  floating  army.  Nelson's  life  is  a  perpetual 
comment  on  this. 


SERMONS 

Ancient 

AND     MOD 
EKN 


Of  moral  discourses  and  fine  moral  discus- 
.  sions  in  the  pulpit  —  "  none  of  your  Methodist 
stuff  for  me."  And,  yet,  most  certain  it  is, 
that  never  were  either  ministers  or  congrega- 
tions so  strict  in  all  morality  as  at  the  time 
when  nothing  but  fine  moral  discourses  (that  is, 
calculations  in  self-love)  would  have  driven  a 
preacher  from  the  pulpit  —  and  when  the  clergy 
thought  it  their  pulpit  duty  to  preach  Christ  and 
Him  crucified,  and  the  why  and  the  wherefore  — 
200 


ANIMA  POETJE 

and  that  the  soberest,  law-obeying,  most  pru- 
dent nation  in  the  world  would  need  Him  as 
much  as  a  nation  of  drunkards,  thieves,  and 
profligates.  How  was  this?  Why,  I  take  it, 
those  old  parsons  thought,  very  wisely,  that  the 
pulpit  was  the  place  for  truths  that  applied  to 
all  men,  humbled  all  alike  (not  mortified  one  or 
two,  and  sent  the  rest  home,  scandal-talking 
with  pharisaic  "  I  thank  thee,  God,  I  am  not  as 
so  and  so,  but  I  was  glad  to  hear  the  par- 
son "),  comforted  all,  frightened  all,  offended  all, 
because  they  were  all  men  —  that  private  vices 
depend  so  much  on  particular  circumstances, 
that  without  making  the  pulpit  a  lampoon  shop 
(or,  even  supposing  the  genius  of  him  who  wrote 
Isaac  Jenkins,  without  particulars  not  suited  to 
the  pulpit)  that  it  would  be  a  cold  generality 
affair  —  and  that,  therefore,  they  considered  the 
pulpit  as  one  part  of  their  duty,  but  to  their 
whole  congregation  as  men^  and  that  the  other 
part  of  their  duty,  which  they  thought  equally 
binding  on  them,  was  to  each  and  every  member 
of  that  congregation  as  John  Harris,  or  James 
Tomkins,  in  private  conversation  —  and  like  that 
of  Mr.  Longford,  sometimes  to  rebuke  and  warn, 
sometimes  to  comfort,  sometimes  and  oftener  to 
instruct,  and  render  them  cajjable  of  under- 
standing his  sermon.  In  short  they  would 
jireach  as  Luther,  and  would  converse  as  Mr. 
Longford  to  Isaac  Jenkins. 

[TAe  History  of  Isaac   Jenkins,  "a  3foral 
Fiction:'     By  Thomas  Beddoes,  M.  D.,  1793]. 

With  a  loving,  generous  man  whose  activity 
of   intellect  is  exerted  habitually  on  truth  and 
201 


■ANTA  .AH.ARA.  CALIPO^U 


NESS  MAY 
ENDUKE 
FOR  A 
NIGHT 


ANIMA  POET^E 

HEAvi-  events  of  permanent,  or,  at  least,  general  interest 
still  warmed  and  colored  by  benevolent  enthusi- 
asm self-unconsciously,  and  whose  heart-move- 
ments are  all  the  property  of  the  few,  whom 
he  dearly  loves  —  with  such  a  man,  for  the 
vast  majority  of  the  wrongs  met  with  in  life, 
that  at  all  affect  him,  a  one-night's  sleep  pro- 
vides the  oblivion  and  the  cure  —  he  awakes 
from  his  slumbers  and  his  resentment  at  the 
same  moment.  Yesterday  is  gone  and  the 
clouds  of  yesterday.  The  sun  is  born  again, 
and  how  bright  and  joyous !  and  I  am  born 
again  !  But  O !  there  may  be  wrongs,  for  which 
with  our  best  efforts  for  the  most  perfect  sup- 
pression, with  the  absence,  nay,  the  impossibility 
of  anger  or  hate,  yet,  longer,  deeper  sleep  is 
required  for  the  heart's  oblivion,  and  thence 
renewal  —  even  the  long  total  sleep  of  death. 

To  me,  I  dare  avow,  even  this  connects  a  new 
soothing  with  the  thought  of  death,  an  addi- 
tional lustre  in  anticipation  to  the  confidence  of 
resurrection,  that  such  sensations  as  I  have  so 
often  had  after  small  wrongs,  trifling  quarrels, 
on  first  awaking  in  a  summer  morn  after  refresh- 
ing sleep,  I  shall  experience  after  death  for  those 
few  wounds  too  deep  and  broad  for  the  vis  medi- 
catrix  of  mortal  life  to  fill  wholly  up  with  new 
flesh  —  those  that,  though  healed,  yet  left  an 
unsightly  scar  which,  too  often,  spite  of  our  best 
wishes,  opened  anew  at  other  derangements  and 
indispositions  of  the  mental  health,  even  when 
they  were  altogether  unconnected  with  the  wound 
itself  or  its  occasions  —  even  as  the  scars  of  the 
sailor,  the  relics  and  remembrances  of  sword  or 
gunshot  wounds  (first  of  all  his  bodily  frame 
202 


ANIMA  POET^ 

giving  way  to  ungenial  influences  from  without 
or  from  within),  ache  and  throb  at  the  coming 
in  of  rain  or  easterly  winds,  and  open  again  and 
bleed  anew,  at  the  attack  of  fever,  or  injury  from 
deficient  or  unwholesome  food  —  that  even  for 
these  I  should  enjoy  the  same  delightful  annihi- 
lation of  them,  as  of  ordinary  wrongs  after  sleep. 

I  would  say  to  a  man  who  reminded  me  of  a 
friend's  unkind  words  or  deeds  which  I  had  for- 
given :  Smoking  is  very  well  while  we  are  all 
smoking,  even  though  the  head  is  made  dizzy  by 
it  and  the  candle  of  reason  burns  red,  dim,  and 
thick ;  but,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  put  an  old 
pipe  to  my  nose  just  at  breakfast-time,  among 
dews  and  flowers  and  sunshine. 
203 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

1811-1S12. 

From  all  that  meets  or  eye  or  ear, 
There  falls  a  genial  holy  fear, 
Which,  like  the  heavy  dew  of  mom. 
Refreshes  while  it  bows  the  heart  forlorn  ! 

B.  T.  C. 

TIME  REAL  How  marked  the  contrast  between  troubled 
GiNARY  *  manbood,  and  joyously  active  youth  in  the  sense 
of  time !  To  the  former,  time  like  the  sun  in  an 
empty  sky  is  never  seen  to  move,  but  only  to 
have  moved.  There,  there  it  was,  and  now  't  is 
here,  now  distant !  yet  all  a  blank  between.  To 
the  latter  it  is  as  the  full  moon  in  a  fine  bree2y 
October  night,  driving  on  amid  clouds  of  all 
shapes  and  hues,  and  kindling  shifting  colors, 
like  an  ostrich  in  its  speed,  and  yet  seems  not 
to  have  moved  at  all.  This  I  feel  to  be  a  just 
image  of  time  real  and  time  as  felt,  in  two  dif- 
ferent states  of  being.  The  title  of  the  poem, 
therefore  (for  poem  it  ought  to  be),  should  be 
time  real  and  time  felt  (in  the  sense  of  time) 
in  active  youth,  or  activity  with  hope  and  ful- 
ness of  aim  in  any  period,  and  in  despondent, 
objectless  manhood  —  time  objective  and  sub- 
jective. 

[The  riddle  is  hard  to  read,  but  the  under- 
lying thought  seems  to  be  that  in  youth  the 
sense  of  time  is  like  the  apparent  motion  of  the 
moon  through  clouds,  ever  driving  on,  but  ever 
seeming  to  stand  still ;  whereas  the  sense  of 
204 


ANIMA  FOETM 

time  in  manhood  is  like  the  sun,  which  seems  to 
be  stationary,  and  yet,  at  short  intervals,  is  seen 
to  have  moved.  This  is  time  Jelt  in  two  differ- 
ent states  of  being.  Time  real  is,  as  it  were, 
sun  or  moon  which  move  independently  of 
our  perception  of  their  movements.  The  note 
(1811),  no  doubt,  contains  the  germs  of  "  Time 
Real  and  Imaginary  "  first  published  in  "  Sibyl- 
line Leaves "  in  1817,  which  Coleridge  in  his 
Preface  describes  as  a  "schoolboy  poem,"  and 
interprets  thus :  "  By  imaginary  tune  I  meant 
the  state  of  a  schoolboy's  mind,  when,  on  his 
return  to  school,  he  projects  his  being  in  his  day- 
dreams, and  lives  in  his  next  holidays,  six  months 
hence ! "  The  explanation  was  probably  an 
afterthought.  "  The  two  lovely  children  "  who 
"  run  an  endless  race "  may  have  haunted  his 
schoolboy  dreams,  may  perhaps  have  returned 
to  the  dreams  of  his  troubled  manhood,  bringing 
with  them  the  sense  rather  than  the  memory  of 
youth,  intermingled  with  a  consciousness  that 
youth  was  gone  forever,  but  the  composition  of 
the  poem  dates  from  1811,  or  possibly  1815, 
when  the  preparation  of  the  poems  for  the 
press  would  persuade  him  once  more  to  express 
his  thoughts  in  verse.] 

On  the  wide  level  of  a  mountain's  head,  time  real 

(I  knew  not  where,  but  't  was  some   faery  in^ry'^^ 

place,)  ALLEGORY 

Their  pinions,  ostrich-like,  for  sails  outspread, 
Two  lovely  children  run  an  endless  race, 
A  sister  and  a  brother  ! 
This  far  outstript  the  other  ; 
205 


NIGHT 
MARE 


ANIMA  POET^ 

Yet  ever  runs  she  with  reverted  face, 
And  looks  and  listens  for  the  boy  behind  : 

For  he,  alas !  is  blind ! 
O'er  rough  and  smooth  with  even  step  he  passed, 
And  knows  not  whether  he  be  first  or  last. 

[P.  TF.,  1893,  p.   187.     See,    too,    Editor's 
Note,  p.  638.] 

THE  HAG  Elucidation  of  my  all-zermalming  [that  is, 
all-crushing]  argument  on  the  subject  of  ghosts, 
apparitions,  etc. 

Nightmare  is,  I  think,  always,  even  when  it 
occurs  in  the  midst  of  sleep,  and  not  as  it  more 
commonly  does  after  a  waking  interval,  a  state 
not  of  sleep,  but  of  stupor  of  the  outward  organs 
of  sense  —  not  in  words,  indeed,  but  yet  in  fact 
distinguishable  from  the  suspended  power  of  the 
senses  in  true  sleep,  while  the  volitions  of  rea- 
son, that  is,  the  faculty  of  comparison,  etc.,  are 
awake  though  disturbed.  This  stupor  seems  to 
be  occasioned  by  some  painful  sensations  of  un- 
known locality  (most  often,  I  believe,  in  the 
lower  bowel)  which,  withdrawing  the  attention  to 
itself  from  the  sense  of  other  realities  present, 
makes  us  asleep  to  them,  indeed,  but  otherwise 
awake.  And,  whenever  the  derangement  occa- 
sions an  interruption  in  the  circulation,  aided, 
perhaps,  by  pressure,  awkward  position,  etc.,  the 
part  deadened,  as  the  hand,  the  arm,  or  the  foot 
and  leg,  or  the  side,  transmits  double  touch  as 
single  touch,  to  which  the  imagination,  therefore, 
the  true  inward  creatrix,  instantly  out  of  the 
chaos  of  elements  or  shattered  fragments  of 
memory,  puts  together  some  form  to  fit  it.  And 
this  [imagination  derives  an  over-mastering  sense 
206 


ANIMA  POET^ 

of  reality  from  the  circumstance  that  the  power 
of  reason,  being  in  good  measure  awake,  most 
generally  presents  to  us  all  the  accompanying 
images  very  nearly  as  they  existed  the  moment 
before,  when  we  fell  out  of  anxious  wakefulness 
into  this  reverie.  For  example,  the  bed,  the 
curtain,  the  room  and  its  furniture,  the  know- 
ledge of  who  lives  in  the  next  room,  and  so 
forth,  contribute  to  the  illusion.  ...  In  short, 
the  nightmare  is  not,  properly,  a  dream,  but  a 
species  of  reverie,  akin  to  somnambulism,  during 
which  the  understanding  and  moral  sense  are 
awake,  though  more  or  less  confused,  and  over 
the  terrors  of  which  the  reason  can  exert  no  in- 
fluence, because  it  is  not  true  terror^  that  is, 
apprehension  of  danger,  but  is  itself  a  specific 
sensation  =  terror  corporeus  sive  materialis. 
The  explanation  and  classification  of  these 
strange  sensations,  the  organic  material  anal- 
ogous (ideas  materiales  intermedias,  as  the 
Cartesians  say)  of  Fear,  Hope,  Rage,  Shame, 
and  (strangest  of  all)  Remorse,  form  at  present 
the  most  difficult,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most 
interesting  problem  of  psychology,  and  are 
intimately  connected  with  prudential  morals,  the 
science,  that  is,  of  morals  not  as  the  ground  and 
law  of  duty,  but  in  their  relation  to  the  empiri- 
cal hindrances  and  focillations  in  the  realizing 
of  the  law  by  human  beings.  The  solution  of 
this  problem  would,  perhaps,  throw  great  doubt 
on  the  present  [notion]  that  the  forms  and 
feelings  of  sleep  are  always  the  reflections  and 
confused  echoes  of  our  waking  thoughts  and  ex- 
periences. 

207 


AND  a 
MAGIC 
MIRROR 


ANIMA  POET^ 

A  MOMENT  What  a  swarm  of  thoughts  and  feelings,  end- 
lessly minute  fragments,  and,  as  it  were,  repre- 
sentations of  all  preceding  and  embryos  of  all 
future  thought,  lie  compact  in  any  one  moment ! 
So,  in  a  single  drop  of  water,  the  microscope  dis- 
covers what  motions,  what  tumult,  what  wars, 
what  pursuits,  what  stratagems,  what  a  circle- 
dance  of  death  and  life,  death-hunting  life,  and 
life  renewed  and  invigorated  by  death!  The 
whole  world  seems  here  in  a  many-meaning 
cypher.  What  if  our  existence  was  but  that 
moment?  What  an  unintelligible,  affrightful 
riddle,  what  a  chaos  of  limbs  and  trunk,  tail- 
less, headless,  nothing  begim  and  nothing  ended, 
would  it  not  be?  And  yet  scarcely  more  than 
that  other  moment  of  fifty  or  sixty  years,  were 
that  our  all.  Each  part  throughout  infinite 
diminution  adapted  to  some  other,  and  yet  the 
whole  a  means  to  nothing  —  ends  everywhere, 
and  yet  an  end  nowhere. 

[Compare  the  three  last  lines  of  "What  is 
Life?" 

Is  very  life  by  consciousness  unbounded  ? 

And  all  the  thoughts,  pains,  joys  of  mortal  breath, 

A  war-embrace  of  wrestling  life  and  death  ? 

P.  W.,  1893,  p.  173.] 

The  love  of   nature  is  ever  returned  double 
THAT  IN-    to   us,  not   only   the   delighter   in   our   delight, 
THE  blips'  but  by  linking  our  sweetest,  but  of   themselves 
TV  *E^''     perishable  feelings  to  distinct  and  vivid  images, 
which  we  ourselves,  at  times,  and  which  a  thou- 
sand casual  recollections,  recall  to  our  memory. 
She  is  the  preserver,  the  treasurer  of  our  joys. 
Even  in  sickness  and  nervous  diseases,  she  has 
208 


ANIMA  POET^ 

peopled  our  knagination  with  lovely  forms  which 
have  sometimes  overpowered  the  inward  pain 
and  brought  with  them  their  old  sensations. 
And  even  when  all  men  have  seemed  to  desert 
us,  and  the  friend  of  our  heart  has  passed  on, 
with  one  glance  from  his  "  cold,  disliking  eye  " 
—  yet  even  then  the  blue  heaven  spreads  it  out 
and  bends  over  us,  and  the  little  tree  still 
shelters  us  under  its  plumage  as  a  second  cope, 
a  domestic  firmament,  and  the  low  -  creejiing 
gale  will  sigh  in  the  heath-plant  and  soothe  us 
by  sound  of  sympathy  till  the  lulled  grief  lose 
itself  in  fixed  gaze  on  the  purple  heath-blos- 
som, till  the  present  beauty  becomes  a  vision  of 
memory. 

I  have  never  seen  the  evening  star  set  be-  hesperus 
hind  the  mountains,  but  it  was  as  if  I  had 
lost  a  hope  out  of  my  soul,  as  if  a  love  were 
gone,  and  a  sad  memory  only  remained.  O  it 
was  my  earliest  affection,  the  evening  star !  One 
of  my  first  utterances  in  verse  was  an  address  to 
it  as  I  was  returning  from  the  New  River,  and  it 
looked  newly  bathed  as  well  as  I.  I  remember 
that  the  substance  of  the  sonnet  was  that  the 
woman  whom  I  could  ever  love  would  surely 
have  been  emblemed  in  the  pensive  serene 
brightness  of  that  planet,  that  we  were  both 
constellated  to  it,  and  would  after  death  return 
thither. 

TO   THE   EVENING   STAR.  to  the 

O  meek  attendant  of  Sol's  setting  blaze,  stak 

I  hail,  sweet  star,  thy  chaste  effulgent  glow ; 

On  thee  full  oft  with  fixed  eye  I  gaze, 
Till  I,  methinks,  all  spirit  seem  to  grow. 
209 


ANIMA  POET^ 

O  first  and  fairest  of  the  starry  choir, 

O  loveliest  'mid  the  daughters  of  the  night, 
Must  not  the  maid  I  love  like  thee  inspire 

Pure  joy  and  calm  delight  ? 
Must  she  not  be,  as  is  thy  i^lacid  sphere, 

Serenely  brilliant  ?     Whilst  to  gaze  awhile 
Be  all  my  wish  'mid  Fancy's  high  career 

E'en  till  she  quit  this  scene  of  earthly  toil ; 
Then  Hope  perchance  might  fondly  sigh  to  join 
Her  image  in  thy  kindred  orb,  O  star  benign  ! 

[First  printed  from  MS.  Poetical  and  Dra- 
matic Works,  1877-80 ;  Poetical  Works,  1893, 
p.  11.] 


HEALTH, 
INDEPEND- 
ENCE, 
FRIEND- 
SHIP 


Where  health  is  —  at  least,  though  pain  be 
no  stranger,  yet  when  the  breath  can  rise,  and 
turn  round  like  a  comet  at  its  perihelion  in 
its  ellipse,  and  again  descend,  instead  of  being 
a  Sisiphus's  stone  ;  and  the  chest  can  expand 
as  by  its  own  volition,  and  the  head  sits  firm 
yet  mobile  aloft,  like  the  vane  of  a  tower  on 
a  hill  shining  in  the  blue  air,  and  appropri- 
ating sunshine  and  moonlight  whatever  weight 
of  clouds  brood  below  —  O  when  health  and 
hope,  and  if  not  competence  yet  a  debtless  un- 
wealth,  libera  et  loita  pa^qjertas,  is  his,  a  man 
may  have  and  love  many  friends,  but  yet,  if 
indeed  they  be  friends,  he  lives  with  each  a 
several  and  individual  life. 


SELF-AB- 
SORPTION 
AND  SEL- 
FISHNESS 


One  source  of  calumny  (I  say  source,  because 
allo'phdhy  from  heauto^nthygmy  is  the  only  proper 
causG^  may  be  found  in  this :  every  man's  life 
exhibits  two  sorts  of  selfishness,  those  which  are, 
and  those  which  are  not,  objects  of  his  own  con- 
210 


ANIMA  POET^ 

sciousness.  A  is  thinking,  perhaps,  of  some 
plan  in  which  he  may  benefit  another,  and  dur- 
ing this  absorption  consults  his  own  little  bodily 
comforts  blindly  —  occupies  the  best  place  at  the 
fireside,  or  asks  at  once,  "  Where  am  I  to  sit  ?  " 
instead  of  first  inquiring  after  the  health  of  an- 
other. Now  the  error  lies  here,  that  B,  in  com- 
plaining of  A,  first  takes  for  granted  either  that 
these  are  acts  of  conscious  selfishness  in  A,  or, 
if  he  allows  the  truth,  yet  considers  them  just  as 
bad  (and  so  perhaps  they  may  be  in  a  certain 
sense),  but  forgets  that  his  own  life  presents  the 
same,  judges  of  his  own  life  exclusively  by  his 
own  consciousness,  that  of  another  by  conscious 
and  unconscious  in  a  lump.  A  monkey's  anthro- 
pomorphic attitudes  we  take  for  anthropic. 

Try    not   to    become    disgusted   with    active  self-ad- 
benevolence,  or  despondent   because  there  is  a  J^^g  phi- 
philanthro^jy-trade.     It  is  a  sort  of  benefit-club  ^^^' 
of  virtue,  supported  by  the  contributions  of  pau- 
pers in  virtue,  founded  by  genuine  enthusiasts 
who  gain  a  reputation  for  the  thing  —  then  slip 
in  successors  who  know  how  to  avail  themselves 
of  th.e  influence  and  connections  derived  thereby 

—  quite  gratuitous,  however,  and  bustling-active 

—  but  yet  bribe  high  to  become  the  unpaid  phy- 
sicians of  the  dispensary  at  St.  Luke's  Hospital, 
and  bow  and  scrape  and  intrigue,  Carlyleize 
and  Knappize  for  it.  And  such  is  the  [case 
with  regard  to]  the  slave-trade.  The  first  aboli- 
tionists were  the  good  men  who  labored  when 
the  thing  seemed  desperate  —  it  was  virtue  for 
its  own  sake.  Then  the  quakers,  Granville 
Sharp,  etc. ;    then   the   restless  spirits  who  are 

211 


ANIMA  POET^ 

under  the  action  of  tyrannical  oppression  from 
images,  and,  gradually,  mixed  vanity  and  love 
of  power  with  it  —  the  politicians  -j-  saints  = 
Wilberforce.  Last  come  the  Scotchmen  —  and 
Brougham  is  now  canvassing  more  successfully 
for  the  seat  of  Wilberforce,  who  retires  with 
great  honor  and  regret,  from  infirmities  of  age 
and  enonghness.  It  is  just  as  with  the  great 
original  benefactors  and  founders  of  useful  plans, 
Raleigh,  Sir  Hugh  Middleton,  etc.,  —  men  of 
genius  succeeded  by  sharpers,  but  w^ho  often  can 
better  carry  on  what  they  never  could  have  first 
conceived  —  and  this,  too,  by  their  very  want  of 
those  qualities  and  virtues  which  were  necessary 
to  the  discovery. 

BUT  LOVE  All  mere  passions,  like  spirits  and  apparitions, 
sTRucTi-  have  their  hour  of  cockcrow,  in  wliich  they  must 
^^^  vanish.      But  pure  love  is,  therefore,  no  mere 

passion ;  and  it  is  a  test  of  its  being  love,  that 
no  reason  can  be  assigned  luhy  it  should  disap- 
pear. Shall  we  not  always,  in  this  life  at  least, 
remain  animce  dimidiatce  ?  —  must  not  the  moral 
reason  always  hold  out  the  perfecting  of  each  by 
union  of  both  as  good  and  lovely  ?  With  rea- 
son, therefore,  and  conscience  let  love  vanish, 
but  let  these  vanish  only  with  our  being. 

THE  FEINT  Tlic  sick  and  sleepless  man,  after  the  dawn  of 
SLEEPLESS  the  fresh  day,  is  fain  to  watch  the  smoke  now 
from  this  and  then  from  the  other  chimney  of 
the  town  from  his  bed-chamber,  as  if  willing  to 
borrow  from  others  that  sense  of  a  new  day,  of  a 
discontinuity  between  the  yesterday  and  the  to- 
day, which  his  own  sensations  had  not  afforded. 
212 


FRIEND- 
SHIP 


ANIMA  POET^ 

[Compare  "Wordsworth's  "  Blessed  Barrier  Be- 
tween Day  and  Day,"  "Wordsworth's  Third  Son- 
net to  Sleep,  Poetical  Works,  1889,  354.] 

O  what  wisdom  could  I  talTc  to  a  youth  of  first 
geniiis  and  genial-heartedness  !  O  how  little  and 
could  I  teach !  and  yet,  though  despairing  of 
success,  I  would  attempt  to  enforce :  "  When- 
ever you  meet  with  a  person  of  undoubted  tal- 
ents, more  especially  if  a  woman,  and  of  apparent 
goodness,  and  yet  you  feel  uncomfortable,  and 
urged  against  your  nature,  and,  therefore,  proba- 
bly in  vain,  to  be  on  your  guard  —  then  take 
yourself  to  task  and  enquire  what  strong  reason, 
moral  or  prudential,  you  have  to  form  any  inti- 
macy or  even  familiarity  with  that  person.  If 
you  after  this  (or  moreover)  detect  any  false- 
hood, or,  what  amounts  to  the  same,  jironeness 
and  quickness  to  look  into,  to  analyze,  to  find 
out  and  represent  evil  or  weakness  in  others 
(however  this  may  be  disguised  even  from  the 
person's  own  mind  by  candor,  [in]  pointing  out 
the  good  at  the  same  time,  by  affectation  of 
speculative  truth,  as  psychologists,  or  of  telling 
you  all  their  thoughts  as  open-hearted  friends), 
then  let  no  reason  but  a  strong  and  coercive  one 
suffice  to  make  you  any  other  than  as  formal 
and  distant  acquaintance  as  circumstances  will 
permit."  And  am  I  not  now  suffering,  in  part, 
for  forcing  my  feelings  into  slavery  to  my  no- 
tions, and   intellectual   admiration  for  a  whole 

year  and  more  with  regard  to ?     [So  the 

MS.]     If  I  played  the  hyjiocrite  to  myself,  can 

I  blame  my  fate  that  he  has,  at  length,  played 

the  deceiver  to  me  ?    Yet,  God  knows !  I  did  it 

213 


ANIMA  POETiE 

most  virtuously !  —  not  only  without  vanity  or 
any  self-interest  of  however  subtle  a  nature,  but 
from  humility  and  a  true  delight  in  finding  ex- 
cellence of  any  kind,  and  a  disposition  to  fall 
prostrate  before  it. 


MILTON'S 

BLANK 

VERSE 


To  understand  fully  the  mechanism,  in  order 
fully  to  feel  the  incomparable  excellence,  of  Mil- 
ton's metre,  we  must  make  four  tables,  or  a  four- 
fold compartment,  the  first  for  the  feet,  single 
and  composite,  for  which  the  whole  twenty-six 
feet  of  the  ancients  will  be  found  necessary  ;  the 
second  to  note  the  construction  of  the  feet, 
whether  from  different  or  from  single  words  — 
for  who  does  not  perceive  the  difference  to  the 
ear  between — 

"  Inextricable  disobedience,"  and 
"  To  love  or  not :  in  this  we  stand  or  fall " — 
yet  both  lines  are  composed  of  five  iambics. 
The  third,  of  the  strength  and  position,  the  con- 
centration or  diffusion  of  the  emphasis.  Fourth 
the  length  and  position  of  the  pauses.  Then 
compare  his  narrative  with  the  harangues.  I 
have  not  noticed  the  ellipses,  because  they  either 
do  not  affect  the  rhythm,  or  are  not  ellipses,  but 
are  comprehended  in  the  feet. 


APHOR- 
ISMS 
OR  PITHY 

SEN- 
TENCES 


Shall  I  compare  man  to  a  clockwork  catama- 
ran, destined  to  float  on  in  a  meaner  element 
for  so  many  moments  or  hours,  and  then  to  ex- 
plode, scattering  its  involucrum  and  itself  to 
ascend  into  its  proper  element  ? 


I  am  persuaded  that  we  love  what  is  above  us 
more  than  what  is  under  us. 
214 


ANIMA  POET^ 

Money  —  paper  money  —  peace,  war.  How 
comes  it  that  all  men  in  all  companies  are  talk- 
ing of  the  depreciation,  etc.,  etc.  —  and  yet  that 
a  discourse  on  transubstantiation  would  not  be  a 
more  withering  sirocco  than  the  attempt  to  ex- 
plain philosophically  the  true  cure  and  causes  of 
that  which  interests  all  so  vehemently  ? 

All  convalescence  is  a  resurrection,  a  palin- 
genesy  of  our  youth  —  "  and  loves  the  earth  and 
all  that  live  thereon  with  a  new  heart."  But 
oh !  the  anguish  to  have  the  aching  freshness  of 
yearning  and  no  answering  object  —  only  re- 
membrances of  faithless  change — and  unmerited 
alienation ! 

The  sun  at  evening  holds  up  her  fingers  of 
both  hands  before  her  face  that  mortals  may 
have  one  steady  gaze  —  her  transparent  crimson 
fingers  as  when  a  lovely  woman  looks  at  the  fire 
through  her  slender  palms. 

O  that  perilous  moment  [for  such  there  is]  of 
a  half  reconciliation,  when  the  coldness  and  the 
resentment  have  been  sustained  too  long.  Each 
is  drawing  toward  the  other,  but  like  glass  in 
the  mid-state  between  fusion  and  compaction  a 
single  sand  will  splinter  it. 

Sometimes  when  I  earnestly  look  at  a  beauti- 
ful object  or  landscape,  it  seems  as  if  I  were  on 
the  brink  of  a  fruition  still  denied  —  as  if  Vi- 
sion were  an  appetite  ;  even  as  a  man  would  feel 
who,  having  put  forth  all  his  muscular  strength 
in  an  act  of  prosilience,  is  at  the  very  moment 
215 


ANIMA  POET.E 

held  hack  —  he  leaps  and  yet  moves  not  from  his 
place. 

Philosophy  in  general,  but  a  plummet  to  so 
short  a  line  that  it  can  sound  no  deeper  than  the 
sounder's  eyes  can  reach  —  and  yet  —  in  cer- 
tain waters  it  may  teach  the  exact  depth  and  pre- 
vent a  drowning. 

The  midnight  wild  beasts  staring  at  the 
hunter's  torch,  or  when  the  hunter  sees  the 
tiger's  eye  glaring  on  the  red  light  of  his  own 
torch. 

A  summer-sailing  on  a  still  peninsulating 
river,  and  sweet  as  the  delays  of  parting  lovers. 

Sir  F[rancis]  B[urdett],  like  a  Lapland  witch 
drowned  in  a  storm  of  her  own  raising.  Mr. 
Cobbett,  who,  for  a  dollar,  can  raise  what,  offer 
him  ten  thousand  dollars,  he  could  not  allay. 

August,  Why  do  you  make  a  book?  Because  my 
hands  can  extend  but  a  few  score  inches  from 
my  body ;  because  my  poverty  keeps  those  hands 
empty  when  my  heart  aches  to  empty  them; 
because  my  life  is  short,  and  [by  reason  of]  my  in- 
firmities ;  and  because  a  book,  if  it  extends  but 
to  one  edition,  will  probably  benefit  three  or  four 
score  on  whom  I  could  not  otherwise  have  acted, 
and,  should  it  live  and  deserve  to  live,  will  make 
ample  conpensation  for  all  the  aforestated  infirm- 
ities. O,  but  think  only  of  the  thoughts,  feel- 
ings, radical  impulses  that  have  been  implanted 
in  how  many  thousands  by  the  little  ballad  of 
216 


1811 


ANIMA  POET^ 

the  "Children  in  the  Wood"!  The  sphere  of 
Alexander  the  Great's  agency  is  trifling  com- 
pared with  it. 

One  of  the  strangest  and  most  painful  pccu-  present 
liarities  of  my  nature  (unless  others  have  the 
same,  and,  like  me,  hide  it,  from  the  same  inex- 
plicable feeling  of  causeless  shame  and  sense  of 
a  sort  of  guilt,  joined  with  the  apprehension  of 
being  feared  and  shrunk  from  as  a  something 
transnatural)  I  will  here  record  —  and  my  mo- 
tive, or,  rather,  impulse,  to  do  this  seems  an  ef- 
fort to  eloign  and  abalienate  it  from  the  dark 
adyt  of  my  own  being  by  a  visual  outness,  and  not 
the  wish  for  others  to  see  it.  It  consists  in  a 
sudden  second  sight  of  some  hidden  vice,  past, 
present,  or  to  come,  of  the  person  or  persons  with 
whom  I  am  about  to  form  a  close  intimacy  — 
which  never  deters  me,  but  rather  (as  all  these 
transnaturals)  urges  me  on,  just  like  the  feeling 
of  an  eddy-torrent  to  a  swimmer.  I  see  it  as  a 
vision,  feel  it  as  a  prophecy,  not  as  one  given  me 
by  any  other  being,  but  as  an  act  of  my  own 
spirit,  of  the  absolute  nonmeno?i,  which,  in  so 
doing,  seems  to  have  offended  against  some  law 
of  its  being,  and  to  have  acted  the  traitor  by  a 
commune  with  full  consciousness  independent  of 
the  tenure  or  inflected  state  of  association,  cause, 
and  effect,  etc. 

As  the  most  far-sighted  eye,  even  aided  by  the  the 
most  powerful  telescope,  will  not  make  a  fixed  staks  of 
star  appear  larger  than  it  does  to  an  ordinary  '^"^■■''" 
and  unaided  sight,  even  so  there  are  heights  of 
knowledge  and  truth  sublime  which  all  men  in 
217 


ANIMA  POETiE 

possession  of  the  ordinary  human  understanding 
may  comprehend  as  much  and  as  well  as  the  pro- 
foundest  philosopher  and  the  most  learned  theo- 
logian. Such  are  the  truths  relating  to  the  logos 
and  its  oneness  with  the  self-existent  Deity,  and 
of  the  humanity  of  Christ  and  its  union  with  the 
logos.  It  is  idle,  therefore,  to  refrain  from 
preaching  on  these  subjects,  provided  only  such 
preparations  have  been  made  as  no  man  can  be  a 
Christian  without.  The  misfortune  is  that  the 
majority  are  Christians  only  in  name,  and  by 
birth  only.  Let  them  but  once,  according  to  St. 
James,  have  looked  down  steadfastly  into  the  laio 
of  liberty  or  freedom  in  their  own  souls  (the  will 
and  the  conscience),  and  they  are  capable  of 
whatever  God  has  chosen  to  reveal. 

c'EST  A   long  line   of  ( !  !  )  marks  of   admiration 

FiQUE,"  would  be  its  aptest  symbol !  It  has  given  me 
n4s\*^pas  ^^^^  eye-ache  with  dazzlement,  the  brain-ache  with 
LA  poEsiE  wonderment,  the  stomach  and  all-ache  with  the 
shock  and  after-eddy  of  contradictory  feelings. 
Splendor  is  there,  splendor  everywhere  —  dis- 
tinct the  figures  as  vivid  —  skill  in  construction 
of  events  —  beauties  numberless  of  form  and 
thought.  But  there  is  not  anywhere  the  "one 
low  piping  note  more  sweet  than  all"  —  there  is 
not  the  divine  vision  of  the  poet,  which  gives  the 
full  fruition  of  sight  without  the  effort  —  and 
where  the  feelings  of  the  heart  are  struck,  they 
are  awakened  only  to  complain  of  and  recoil 
from  the  occasion.  O !  it  is  mournful  to  see  and 
wonder  at  such  a  marvel  of  labor,  erudition,  and 
talent  concentred  into  such  a  burning-glass  of 
factitious  power,  and  yet  to  know  that  it  is  all  in 
218 


ANIMA  POETiE 

vain.  Like  the  Pyramids,  it  shows  what  can  be 
done,  and,  like  them,  leaves  in  painful  and  almost 
scornful  perplexity  why  it  was  done,  for  what  or 
whom. 

Grand  rule  in  case  of  quarrels  between  friends  silence 
or  lovers  —  never  to  say,  hint,  or   do  an3/<Am^  septe^b^er 
in  a  moment  of  anger  or  indignation  or  sense  of  "^'  ^^^^ 
ill  treatment,  but  to  be  passive  —  and  even  if  the 
fit  should  recur  the  next  morning,  still  to  delay 
it  —  in  short,  however  plausible  the  motive  may 
be,  yet  if  you  have  loved  the  persons  concerned, 
not  to  say  it  till  their  love  has  returned  towards 
you,  and  your  feelings  are  the  same  as  they  were 
before.     And  for  this  plain  reason  —  you  knew 
this  before,  and  yet  because  you  were  in  kind- 
ness, you  never  felt  an  impulse  to  speak  of  it  — 
then,  surely,  not  now  when  j^ou  may  perpetuate 
what  would  otherwise  be  fugitive. 

"  That  not  one  of  the  ^9ec^^Z^a?'i^^es  of  Chris-  the 
tianity,  no  one  point  in  which,  being  clearly  kecanta- 
different  from  other  religions  or  philosophies,  ^^^^ 
it  would  have,  at  least,  the  jjossibiliti/  of  being 
superior  to  all,  is  retained  by  the  modern  Unita- 
rians." This  remark  is  occasioned  by  my  reflec- 
tions on  the  fact  that  Christianity  exclusively  has 
asserted  the  positive  being  of  evil  or  sin,  "  of  sin 
the  exceeding  sinfulness  "  —  and  thence  exclu- 
sively the  freedom  of  the  creature,  as  that,  the 
clear  institution  of  which  is  both  the  residt  and 
the  ticcompaniment  of  redemption.  The  nearest 
philosophy  to  Christianity  is  the  Platonic,  and  it 
is  observable  that  this  is  the  mere  antipodes  of 
the  Hartleio-Lockian  held  by  the  Unitarians; 
219 


ANIMA  POET^E 

but  the  true  honors  of  Christianity  would  be  most 
easily  manifested  by  a  comparison  even  with  that 
"  nee  ^9ari  nee  secit?ido,^^  but  yet  "  omnibus  aliis 
2)ro2)riore"  the  Platonic !  With  what  contempt, 
even  in  later  years,  have  I  not  contemplated  the 
doctrine  of  the  devil !  but  now  I  see  the  intimate 
connection,  if  not  as  existent  person^  yet  as  es- 
sence and  symbol  with  Christianity  —  and  that 
so  far  from  being  identical  with  Manicheism,  it 
is  the  surest  antidote  (that  is,  rightly  under- 
stood). 

220 


CHAPTER  IX. 

1SU-1S18. 

Lynx  amid  moles !  had  I  stood  by  thy  bed, 

Be  of  good  cheer,  meek  soul !  I  would  have  said : 

I  see  a  hope  spring  from  that  humble  fear. 

S.  T.  C, 


The  first  man  of  science  was  he  who  looked  science 

AND   PHI- 
LOSOPHY 


into  a  thing,  not  to  learn  whether  it  could  fur- 


nish him  with  food,  or  shelter,  or  weapons, 
or  tools,  or  ornaments,  or  playimths,  but  who 
sought  to  know  it  for  the  gratification  of 
knowing;  while  he  that  first  sought  to  know 
in  order  to  be  was  the  first  philosopher.  I  have 
read  of  two  rivers  passing  through  the  same 
lake,  yet  all  the  way  preserving  their  streams 
visibly  distinct  —  if  I  mistake  not,  the  Rhone 
and  the  Adar,  through  the  Lake  of  Geneva.  In 
a  far  finer  distinction,  yet  in  a  subtler  union, 
such,  for  the  contemplative  mind,  are  the  streams 
of  knowing  and  being.  The  lake  is  formed  by 
the  two  streams  in  man  and  nature  as  it  exists 
in  and  for  man;  and  up  this  lake  the  philoso- 
pher sails  on  the  junction-line  of  the  constituent 
streams,  still  pushing  upward  and  sounding  as 
he  goes,  towards  the  common  fountain-head  of 
both,  the  mysterious  source  whose  being  is 
knowledge,  whose  knowledge  is  being  —  the 
adorable  I  am  in  that  I  am. 

I  have  culled  the  following  extracts  from  the  pe- 
First   Epistle  of  the  First  Book  of   Petrarch's  ErisxtEs 
221 


ANIMA  POET^ 

Epistle,  that  Barhato  Salmonensi.    [Basil,  1554, 
i.  76.] 

Vultus,  heu,  blanda  severi 
Majestas,  placidaeque  decus  poudusque  senectae ! 

Non  omnia  terrae 
Obruta  !  vivit  amor,  vivit  dolor !     Ora  negatum 
Diilcia  conspicere ;  at  flere  et  meminisse  relictum 
est. 

Jamque  observatio  vitae 
Multa  dedit  —  lugere  nihil,  f erre  omnia ;  jamque 
Paulatim  lacrymas  rerum  experientia  tersit. 
[Heu !  et  spem  quoque  tersit] 

Pectore  nunc  gelido  calidos  miseremur  amantes, 
Jamque   arsisse   pudet.     Veteres   tranquilla   tu- 

multus 
Mens  horret,  relegensque   alium   putat  esse  lo- 

cutum. 

But,  indeed,  the  whole  of  this  letter  deserves 
to  be  read  and  translated.  Had  Petrarch  lived  a 
century  later,  and,  retaining  all  his  suhstantiality 
of  head  and  heart,  added  to  it  the  elegancies  and 
manly  politure  of  Fracastorius,  Flaminius,  Vida 
and  their  corrivals,  this  letter  would  have  been 
a  classical  gem.  To  a  translator  of  genius,  and 
who  possessed  the  English  language  as  unem- 
barrassed property,  the  defects  of  style  in  the 
original  would  present  no  obstacle  ;  nay,  rather 
an  honorable  motive  in  the  well-grounded  hope 
of  rendering  the  version  a  finer  poem  than  the 
original. 

[Twelve  lines  of  Petrarch's  Ep.  Barhato  Sal- 
222 


ANIMA  POET^ 

monensi  are  quoted  in  the  Biog.  Liter,  at  the 
end  of  chapter  x. ;  and  a  portion  of  the  same 
poem  was  prefixed  as  a  motto  to  "  Love  Poems  " 
in  the  Sibylline  Leaves,  1817,  and  the  editions 
of  P.  TT.,  1828-29  ;  Coleridge's  Worhs,  Harper 
and  Brother,  1853,  iii.  314.  See,  too,  P.  TF., 
1893,  Editors  Note,  pp.  614,  634.] 

A  fine  writer  of  bad  principles  or  a  fine  poem  corrup- 
on  a  hateful  subject,  such  as  the  "  Alexis "  of 
Virgil,  or  the  "  Bathyllus  "  of  Anacreon,  I  com- 
pare to  the  flowers  and  leaves  of  the  Stramonium. 
The  flowers  are  remarkable  sweet,  but  such  is  the 
fetid  odor  of  the  leaves,  that  you  start  back  from 
the  one  through  disjrust  at  the  other. 


TIO 

OPTIMI 

PESSIMA 


MAN  HAS 
MADE  OF 
MAN 


Zephyrs  that  captive  roam  among  these  boughs,    a  bliss 
Strive  ye  in  vain  to  thread  the  leafy  maze  ?  alive 

Or  have  ye  lim'd  your  wings  with  honey-dew  ? 
Unfelt  ye  murmur  restless  o'er  my  head 
And  rock  the  feeding  drone  or  bustling  bees 
That  blend  their  eager,  earnest,  happy  hmn  ! 

Gravior  terras  infestat  Echidna,  what 

Cur  sua  vipereae  jaculantur  toxica  linguse 
Atque   homini    sit   homo    serpens.      O    prodiga 

culpae 
Germina,  naturaeque  uteri  fatalia  monstra ! 
Queis  nimis  innocuo  volupe  est  in  sanguine  ric- 
tus 
Tingere,  fraternasque  fibras  cognataque  per  se 
Viscera,  et  arrosae  deglubere  funera  famae. 
QuaB  morum  ista  lues  ! 

25th  Feb.,  1819.     Five  years  since  the  preced- 
ing lines  were  written  on  this  leaf  I !     Ah  !  how 
223 


ANIMA  POET^ 

yet  more  intrusively  has  tlie  hornet  scandal 
since  then  scared  away  the  bee  of  poetic  thought 
and  silenced  its  "  eager,  earnest,  happy  hum  " ! 

SAVE  ME  The  sore  evil  now  so  general,  alas !  only  not 
KmEXD^  universal,  of  supporting  our  religion,  just  as  a  keen 
party-man  would  support  his  party  in  Parliament. 
All  must  be  defended  which  can  give  a  momen- 
tary advantage  over  any  one  opponent,  no  mat- 
ter how  naked  it  lays  the  cause  open  to  another, 
perhaps,  more  formidable  opponent  —  no  matter 
how  incompatible  the  two  assumptions  may  be. 
We  rejoice,  not  because  our  religion  is  the  truth, 
but  because  the  truth  appears  to  be  our  religion. 
Talk  with  any  dignified  orthodoxist  in  the  sober 
way  of  farther  preferment  and  he  will  concrete 
all  the  grounds  of  Socinianism,  talk  Paley  and  the 
Resurrection  as  a  proof,  and  as  the  only  proper  n^ 
proofs  of  our  immortality ;  will  give  to  external 
evidence  and  miracles  the  self-grounded  force, 
the  same  f undamentality.  Even  so  the  old  Puri- 
tans felt  towards  the  Papists.  Because  so  much 
was  wrong,  everything  was  wrong,  and  by  deny- 
ing all  reverence  to  the  fathers  and  to  the  con- 
stant tradition  of  the  Catholic  churches,  they 
undermined  the  wall  of  the  city  in  order  that  it 
might  fall  on  the  heads  of  the  Romanists  — 
thoughtless  that  by  this  very  act  they  made  a 
breach  for  the  Arian  and  Socinian  to  enter. 

DRIP  DRIP      The  ear-deceiving  imitation  of  a  steady  soak- 

DRip  DRIP  jj^g  rain,  while  the  sky  is  in  full  uncurtainment 

of  sprinkled    stars  and  milky  stream  and  dark 

blue  interspace.     The  rain  had  held  up  for  two. 

hours  or  more,  but  so  deep  was  the  silence  of  the 

224 


ANIMA  POET^ 

night  that  the  drip  from  the  leaves  of  the  garden 
trees  copied  a  steady  shower. 

So  intense  are  my  affections,  and  so  despot-  keme- 
ically  am  I  governed  by  them  (not  indeed  so  amoris 
much  as  I  once  was,  but  still  far,  far  too  much), 
that  I  should  be  the  most  wretched  of  men  if  my 
love  outlived  my  esteem.  But  this,  thank  Hea- 
ven !  is  the  antidote.  The  bitterer  the  tear  of 
anguish  at  the  clear  detection  of  misapplied  at- 
tachment, the  calmer  I  am  afterwards.  It  is  a 
funeral  tear  for  an  object  no  more. 

February  23,  1816.  the  con- 

I  thought  I  expressed  my  thoughts  well  when  of^the^ 
I  said,  "  There  is  no  superstition  but  what  has  a  "^^'""le 

.     .  .  .  ...       MATTER 

religion  as  its  base  [or  radical],  and  religion  is 
only  reason,  seen  perspectively  by  a  finite  intel- 
lect." 


It  is  a  common  remark,  in  medical  books  for  the 

POWl 
WORDS 


instance,  that  there    are    certain  niceties   which  ^°^ 


words,  from  their  always  abstract  and  so  far 
general  nature,  cannot  convey.  Now  this  I  am 
disposed  to  deny,  that  is,  in  any  comparative 
sense.  In  my  opinion  there  is  nothing  which, 
being  equally  known  as  any  other  thing,  may  not 
be  conveyed  by  words  with  equal  clearness.  But 
the  question  of  the  source  of  the  remark  is,  to 
whom  ?  If  I  say  that  in  jaundice  the  skin  looks 
yellow,  my  words  have  no  meaning  for  a  man 
who  has  no  sense  of  colors.  Words  are  but  re- 
membrances, though  remembrance  may  be  so 
excited,  as  by  the  a  prior^i  powers  of  the  mind  to 
produce  a  tertium  aliquid.  The  utmost,  there- 
225 


ANIMA  POET^ 

fore,  that  should  be  said  is  that  every  additament 
of  perception  requires  a  new  word,  which  (like  all 
other  words)  will  be  intelligible  to  all  who  have 
seen  the  subject  recalled  by  it,  and  who  have 
learnt  that  such  a  word  or  phrase  was  appropri- 
ated to  it ;  and  this  may  be  attained  either  by  a 
new  word,  as  platinum,  titanium,  osmium,  etc., 
for  the  new  metals,  or  an  epithet  peculiarizing  the 
application  of  an  old  word.  For  instance,  no 
one  can  have  attended  to  the  brightness  of  the 
eyes  in  a  healthy  person  in  high  spirits  and  par- 
ticularly delighted  by  some  occurrence,  and  that 
of  the  eye  of  a  person  deranged  or  predisposed 
to  derangement,  without  observing  the  differ- 
ence ;  and,  in  this  case,  the  phrase  "  a  maniacal 
glitter  of  the  eye  "  conveys  as  clear  a  notion  as 
that  jaundice  is  marked  by  yellow.  There  is, 
doubtless,  a  difference,  but  no  other  than  that  of 
the  commencement  of  particidar  knowledge  by 
the  application  of  universal  knowledge  (that  is, 
to  all  who  have  the  senses  and  common  faculties 
of  men),  and  the  next  step  of  knowledge  when  it 
particularizes  itself.  But  the  defect  is  not  in 
words,  but  in  the  imperfect  knowledge  of  those 
to  whom  they  are  addressed.  Then  pi'oof  is  ob- 
vious. Desire  a  physician  or  metaphysician  or  a 
lawyer  to  mention  the  most  perspicuous  book  in 
their  several  knowledges.  Then  bid  them  read 
that  book  to  a  sensible  carpenter  or  shoemaker, 
and  a  great  i3art  will  be  as  unintelligible  as  a 
technical  treatise  on  carpentering  to  the  lawyer 
or  physician,  who  had  not  been  brought  up  in  a 
carpenter's  shop  or  looked  at  his  tools. 

I  have  dwelt  on  this  for  more  reasons  than 
one :  first,  because  a  remark  that  seems  at  first 
226 


ANIMA   POET^ 

sight  the  same,  namely,  that  "  everything  clearly 
perceived  may  be  conveyed  in  simple  common 
language,"  without  taking  in  the  "to  whom?" 
is  the  disease  of  the  age  —  an  arrogant  pusilla- 
nimity, a  hatred  of  all  information  that  cannot 
be  obtained  without  thinking ;  and,  secondly, 
because  the  pretended  imperfection  of  language 
is  often  a  disguise  of  muddy  thoughts ;  and, 
thirdly,  because  to  the  mind  itself  it  is  made  an 
excuse  for  indolence  in  determining  what  the  fact 
or  truth  is  which  is  the  premise.  For  whether 
there  does  or  does  not  exist  a  term  in  our  present 
store  of  words  significant  thereof —  if  not,  a  word 
must  be  made  —  and,  indeed,  all  wise  men  have 
so  acted  from  Moses  to  Aristotle,  and  from  Theo- 
phrastus  to  Linnaeus. 

The  sum,  therefore,  is  this  :  The  conveyal  of 
knowledge  by  words  is  in  direct  proportion 
to  the  stores  and  faculties  of  observation  (in- 
ternal or  external)  of  the  person  who  hears  or 
reads  them.  And  this  holds  equally  whether  I 
distinguish  the  green  grass  from  the  white  lily 
and  the  yellow  crocus,  which  all  who  have  eyes 
understand,  because  all  are  equal  to  me  in  the 
knowledge  of  the  facts  signified  —  or  of  the 
difference  between  the  apprehensive,  perceptive, 
conceptive,  and  conclusive  powers  which  I  might 
[try  to  enimciate  to]  Doctors  of  Divinity  and 
they  would  translate  the  words  by  Ahra  Ca 
Dahra. 


/ 


Reflections    on    my   four    gaudy   flower-pots,  flowers 
compared  with  the  former  flower-poems.     After  yunday, 
a  certain  period,  crowded  with  counterfeiters  of  ^^^  ^' 
poetry,  and  illustrious  with  true  poets,  there  is 

227 


ANIMA  POET^ 

formed  for  common  use  a  vast  garden  of  lan- 
guage :  all  the  showy  and  all  the  odorous  words 
and  clusters  of  words  are  brought  together,  and 
to  be  plucked  by  mere  mechanic  and  passive 
memory.  In  such  a  state,  any  man  of  common 
poetical  reading,  having  a  strong  desire  (to  be  ? 
—  O  no !  but  — )  to  be  thought  a  poet  will 
present  a  flower-pot  gay  and  gaudy,  but  the 
composition  !  That  is  wanting.  We  carry  on 
judgment  of  times  and  circumstances  into  our 
pleasures.  A  flower-pot  which  woidd  have  en- 
chanted us  before  flower  gardens  were  common, 
for  the  very  beauty  of  the  component  flowers, 
will  be  rightly  condemned  as  commonjjlace,  out 
of  place  (for  such  is  a  commonplace  poet)  —  it 
involves  a  contradiction  both  in  terms  and 
thought.  So  Homer's  Juno,  Minerva,  etc.,  are 
read  with  delight  —  but  Blackmore  ?  This  is 
the  reason  why  the  judgment  of  those  who  are 
newlings  in  poetic  reading  is  not  to  be  relied  on. 
The  positive,  which  belongs  to  all,  is  taken  as 
the  comparative,  which  is  the  individual's  praise. 
A  good  ear  which  had  never  heard  music  —  with 
what  raptures  would  it  praise  one  of  Shield's 
or  Arne's  Pasticcios  and  Centos !  But  it  is 
the  human  mind  it  praises,  not  the  individual. 
Hence  it  may  hajjpen  (I  believe  has  happened) 
that  fashionableness  may  produce  popularity. 
"  The  Beggar's  Petition  "  is  a  fair  instance,  and 
what  if  I  dared  to  add  Gray's  "  Elegy  in  a 
Country  Churchyard  "  ? 

SPIRITUAL  Men  who  direct  what  they  call  their  under- 
standing or  common  sense  by  rules  abstracted 
from  sensuous  experience  in  moral  and    super- 

228 


BLIND- 
NESS 


ANIMA  POET^ 

sensuous  truths  remind  one  of  the  zemmi  (mus 
Tv<^Aos  or  typhlus)^  "  a  kind  of  rat  in  which  the 
skin  (conjunctiva)  is  not  even  transparent  over 
the  eye,  but  is  there  covered  with  hairs  as  in  the 
rest  of  the  body.  The  eye  (=the  understand- 
ing), which  is  scarcely  the  size  of  the  poppy-seed, 
is  perfectly  useless."  An  eel  (murcena  coecilia) 
and  the  myxine  (^gastobranchus  emeus')  are 
blind  in  the  same  manner,  through  the  opacity  of 
the  conjunctiva. 

Sir  G.  Staunton  asserts  that,  in  the  forests  of  insects 
Java,  spiders'  webs  are  found  of  so  strong  a 
texture  as  to  require  a  sharp-cutting  instrument 
to  make  way  through  them.  Pity  that  he  did 
not  procure  a  specimen  and  bring  it  home  with 
him.  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  see  a  sailing- 
boat  rigged  with  them  —  twisting  the  larger 
threads  into  ropes  and  weaving  the  smaller  into 
a  sort  of  silk  canvas  resembling  the  indestructible 
white  cloth  of  the  arindy  or  palma  Christi  silk- 
worm. 

The  Lihellulidce  fly  all  ways  without  needing 
to  turn  their  bodies  —  onward,  backward,  right, 
and  left  —  with  more  than  swallow  -  rivalling 
rapidity  of  wing,  readiness  of  evolution,  and  in- 
defatigable continuance. 

The  merry  little  gnats  (^Tijmlidce  minimce)  I 
have  myself  often  watched  in  an  April  shower, 
evidently  "  dancing  the  hayes "  in  and  out  be- 
tween the  falling  drops,  unwetted,  or,  rather, 
undown-dashed  by  rocks  of  water  many  times 
larger  than  their  whole  bodies. 
229 


ANIMA  POETiE 

Sunday,'  A  valuable  remark  has  just  struck  me  on 
25,°"8iY  reading  Milton's  beautiful  passage  on  true  elo- 
quence, his  apology  for  Smectyminus.  "For 
me,  reader,  though  I  cannot  say,"  etc.  —  first,  to 
show  the  vastly  greater  numbers  of  admirable 
passages,  in  our  elder  writers,  that  may  be 
gotten  by  heart  as  the  most  exquisite  poems  ; 
and  to  point  out  the  great  intellectual  advantage 
of  this  reading,  over  the  gliding  smoothly  on 
through  a  whole  volume  of  equability.  But 
still,  it  will  be  said,  there  is  an  antiquity,  an 
oddness,  in  the  style.  Granted ;  but  hear  this 
same  passage  from  the  Smectyminus,  or  this,  or 
this.  Every  one  would  know  at  first  hearing 
that  they  were  not  written  by  Gibbon,  Hume, 
Johnson,  or  Robertson.  But  why?  Are  they 
not  pure  English  ?  Ay !  incomparably  more 
so  !  Are  not  the  words  precisely  approjjriate,  so 
that  you  cannot  change  them  without  changing 
the  force  and  meaning  ?  Ay !  But  are  they 
not  even  now  intelligible  to  man,  woman,  and 
child  ?  Ay !  there  is  no  riddle-my-ree  in  them. 
What,  then,  is  it?  The  unnatural,  false,  af- 
fected style  of  the  moderns,  that  makes  sense 
and  simplicity  oddness. 


OBDUCTA 

FRONTE 

SENECTUS 


Even  to  a  sense  of  shrinking,  I  felt  in  this 
man's  face  and  figure  what  a  shape  comes  to 
view  when  age  has  dried  away  the  mask  from  a 
bad,  depraved  man,  and  flesh  and  color  no  longer 
conceal  or  palliate  the  traits  of  the  countenance. 
Then  shows  itself  the  indurated  nerve;  stiff  and 
rigid  in  all  its  ugliness  the  inflexible  muscle ; 
then  quiver  the  naked  lips,  the  cold,  the  love- 
less ;  then  blinks  the  turbid  eye,  whose  glance  no 
230 


ANIMA  POETiE 

longer  pliant  fixes,  abides  in  its  evil  expression. 
Then  lie  on  the  powerless  forehead  the  wrin- 
kles of  suspicion  and  fear,  and  conscience-stung 
watchfulness.  Contrast  this  with  the  counte- 
nance of  Mrs.  Gillman's  mother  as  she  once  de- 
scribed it  to  me.  This  for  *  "Puff  and  Slander," 
Highg-ate,  1817. 

[*  A  projected  satire,  of  which,  perhaps,  the 
lines  headed  "A  Character"  were  an  instalment. 
See  P.  IF.,  1893,  pp.  195-642 ;  Letters  of  S. 
T.  a,  1895,  ii.  631.] 

When  the  little  creature  has  slept  out  its  sleep  a  "king- 
and   stilled  its   hunger  at   the  mother's   bosom  j^^^;! 
(that  very  hunger  a  mode  of  love  all  made  up  of  "=•" 
kisses),   and  coos,  and   wantons  with   j^leasure, 
and  laughs,  and  plays  bob-cherry  with  his  mother, 
that  is  all,  all  to  it.     It  understands  not  either 
itself  or  its  mother,  but  it  clings  to  her,  and  has 
an  undeniable  right  to  cling  to  her,  seeks  her, 
thanks  her,  loves  her  without  forethought  and 
without  an  afterthouaht. 


DOM-OF- 
EAVEN- 


Nec  mihi,  Christe,  tua  sufficiunt  sine  te,  nee  a  divine 
tihi  placent  mea  sine  me,  exclaims  St.  Bernard.  ^*'^^"^" 
JVota   Bene.       This    single     epigram    is    worth 
(shall  I  say  —  O  far  rather  —  is  a  sufficient  an- 
tidote to)  a  wagon-load  of   Paleyan  moral   and 
political  philosophies. 

We  all  look  up  to  the  blue  sky  for  comfort,  but  seriores 
nothing  appears  there,  nothing  comforts,  nothing  ^°^*^ 
answers  us,  and  so  we  die. 

Lie  with  the  ear  upon  a  dear  friend's  grave. 
231 


ANIMA  POET^ 


A  PLEA 
FOK 

SCHOLAS- 
TIC 
TERMS 


On  the  same  man,  as  in  a  vineyard,  grow  far 
different  grapes,  —  on  the  sunny  south  nectar, 
and  on  the  bleak  north  verjuice. 

The  blossom  gives  not  only  future  fruit,  but 
present  honey.  We  may  take  the  one,  the  other 
nothing  injured. 

Like  some  spendthrift  lord,  after  we  have 
disposed  of  nature's  great  masterpiece  and  [price- 
less] heirloom,  the  wisdom  of  innocence,  we  hang 
up  as  a  poor  copy  our  [own  base]  cunning. 

The  revival  of  classical  literature,  like  all  other 
revolutions,  was  not  an  unmixed  good.  One 
evil  was  the  passion  for  pure  Latinity,  and  a  con- 
sequent contempt  for  the  barbarism  of  the  scho- 
lastic style  and  terminology.  For  a  while  the 
schoolmen  made  head  against  their  assailants ; 
but,  alas !  all  the  genius  and  eloquence  of  the 
world  was  against  them,  and  by  an  additional 
misfortune  the  scholastic  logic  was  professed  by 
those  who  had  no  other  attainments,  namely, 
the  monks,  and  these,  from  monkishness,  were 
the  enemies  of  all  genius  and  liberal  knowledge. 
They  were,  of  course,  laughed  out  of  the  field  as 
soon  as  they  lost  the  power  of  aiding  their  logic 
by  the  post-predicaments  of  dungeon,  fire,  and 
fagot.  Henceforward  speculative  philosophy 
must  be  written  classically,  that  is,  without  tech- 
nical terms,  —  therefore  popularly  ;  and  the 
inevitable  consequence  was  that  those  sciences 
only  were  progressive  which  were  permitted  by 
the  apparent  as  well  as  real  necessity  of  the  case 
to  have  a  scientific  terminology  —  as  mathesis, 
232 


ANIMA  POET^ 

geometry,  astronomy,  and  so  forth,  while  meta- 
physics sank  and  died,  and  an  empirical,  highly 
superficial  psychology  took  its  place.  And  so  it 
has  remained  in  England  to  the  present  day.  A 
man  must  have  felt  the  pain  of  being  compelled 
to  express  himself  either  laxly  or  paraphrastically 
(which  latter  is  almost  as  great  an  impediment  in 
intellectual  construction  as  the  translation  of  let- 
ters and  symbols  into  the  thought  they  represent 
would  be  in  Algebra)  in  order  to  understand  how 
much  a  metaphysician  suffers  from  not  daring  to 
adopt  the  ivitates  and  eitates  of  the  schoolmen 
as  objectivity,  subjectivity,  negativity,  positivity. 
April  2,  1817,  Tuesday  night. 

The  sentimental  cantilena  respecting  the  be-  the  body  ^ 
nignity  and  loveliness  of  nature  —  how  does  it  DEA-nr 
not  sink  before  the  contemplation  of  the  pravity 
of  nature,  on  whose  reluctance  and  inaptness  a 
form  is  forced  (the  mere  reflex  of  that  form 
which  is  itself  absolute  substance!),  and  which 
it  struggles  against,  bears  but  for  a  while,  and 
then  sinks  with  the  alacrity  of  self-seeking  into 
dust  or  sanies,  which  falls  abroad  into  endless 
nothings,  or  creeps  and  cowers  in  poison,  or 
explodes  in  havoc  !  What  is  the  beginning  ? 
what  the  end  ?  And  how  evident  an  alien  is  the 
supernatural  in  the  brief  interval ! 

There  are  many,  alas !  too  many,  either   born  spiritl- 
or  who  have  become  deaf  and  dumb.     So  there  and*' 
are  too  many  who  have  perverted  the  religion  ^"^ 
of  the  spirit  into  the  superstition  of  spirits  that 
mutter  and  mock  and  mow,  like  deaf  and  dumb 
idiots.      Plans  of  teaching  the  deaf  and  dumb 
233 


STI- 
CISM 


ANIMA  POETiE 

have  been  Invented.  For  these  the  deaf  and 
dumb  owe  thanks,  and  we  for  their  sakes.  Ho- 
mines sumus  et  nihil  humani  a  nobis  alienum. 
But  does  it  follow,  therefore,  that  in  all  schools 
these  plans  of  teaching  should  be  followed  ?  Yet 
in  the  other  case  this  is  insisted  on  —  and  the 
Holy  Ghost  must  not  be  our  guide  because  mys- 
ticism and  ghosts  may  come  in  under  this  name. 
Why  ?  Because  the  deaf  and  dumb  have  been 
promoted  to  superintendents  of  education  at  large 
for  aU ! 


1DEAI,ISM 
AND  SU- 
PERSTI- 
TION 


Save  only  in  that  in  which  I  have  a  right  to 
demand  of  every  man  that  he  should  be  able 
to  understand  me,  the  experience  or  inward 
witnessing  of  the  conscience,  and  in  respect  of 
which  every  man  in  real  life  (even  the  very  dis- 
putant who  affects  doubt  or  denial  in  the  moment 
of  metaphysical  arguing)  would  hold  himself 
insulted  by  the  supposition  that  he  did  not 
understand  it  —  save  in  this  only,  and  in  that 
which  if  it  be  at  all  must  be  unique^  and  there- 
fore cannot  be  supported  by  an  analogue,  and 
which,  if  it  be  at  all,  must  be  first,  and  therefore 
cannot  have  an  antecedent,  and  therefore  may 
be  monstrated,  but  cannot  be  f?emonstrated.  — 
I  am  no  ghost-seer,  I  am  no  believer  in  appari- 
tions. I  do  not  contend  for  indescribable  sen- 
sations, nor  refer  to,  much  less  ground  my  con- 
victions on,  blind  feelings  or  incommunicable 
experiences,  but  far  rather  contend  against  these 
superstitions  in  the  mechanic  sect,  and  impeach 
you  as  guilty,  habitually  and  systematically 
guilty,  of  the  same.  Guilty,  I  say,  of  superstitions, 
which  at  worst  are  but  exceptions  and  Jits  in  the 
234 


ANIMA  POET^ 

poor  self-misapprehending  pietists,  with  whom, 
under  the  name  mystics,  you  would  fain  con- 
found and  discredit  all  who  receive  and  worship 
God  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  and  in  the  former  as 
the  only  possible  mode  of  the  latter.  Accord- 
ing to  your  own  account,  your  own  scheme,  you 
know  nothing  but  your  own  sensations,  inde- 
scribable inasmuch  as  they  are  sensations  —  for 
the  approjjriate  expression  even  of  which  we 
must  fly  not  merely  to  the  indeclinables  in  the 
lowest  parts  of  speech,  but  to  human  articulations 
that  only  (like  musical  notes)  stand  for  inar- 
ticulate sounds  —  the  6i,  ot,  TraTrat  of  the  Greek 
tragedies,  or,  rather,  Greek  oratorios.  You  see 
nothing,  but  only  by  a  sensation  that  conjures 
up  an  image  in  your  own  brain,  or  optic  nerve 
(as  in  a  nightmare),  have  an  apparition,  in  con- 
sequence of  which,  as  again  in  the  nightmare, 
you  are  forced  to  believe  for  the  moment,  and 
are  inclined  to  infer  the  existence  of  a  corre- 
sponding reality  out  of  your  brain,  but  by  what 
intermediation  you  cannot  even  form  an  intel- 
ligible conjecture.  During  the  years  of  ill-health  j 
from  disturbed  digestion,  I  saw  a  host  of  appari- 
tions, and  heard  them  too  —  but  I  attributed 
them  to  an  act  in  my  brain.  You,  according 
to  your  own  showing,  see  and  hear  nothing  but 
apparitions  in  your  brain,  and  strangely  at- 
tribute them  to  things  that  are  outside  your 
skill.  Which  of  the  two  notions  is  most  like 
the  philosopher,  which  the  superstitionist  ?  The 
philosopher,  who  makes  my  apparitions  nothing 
but  apparitions  —  a  brain-image  nothing  more 
than  a  brain-image  —  and  affirm  nihil  strper 
stare  —  or  you  and  yours  who  vehemently  con- 
235 


ANIMA  POETiE 

tend  that  it  is  but  a  brain-image,  and  yet  cry, 
"  ast  supe7'stitit  aliquid.  Est  superstitio  alimijus 
quod  in  externo^  id  est,  in  apparenti  non  aj)- 
paretr 

What  is  outness,  external  and  the  like,  but 
either  the  generalization  of  apparence  or  the 
result  of  a  given  degree,  a  comparative  intensity 
of  the  same?  "I  see  it  in  my  mind's  eye," 
exclaims  Hamlet,  when  his  thoughts  were  in  his 
own  purview  the  same  phantom,  yea  !  in  a  higher 
intensity,  became  his  father's  ghost  and  marched 
along  the  platform.  I  quoted  your  own  exposi- 
tion, and  dare  you  with  these  opinions  charge 
others  with  superstition  ?  You  who  deny  aught 
permanent  in  our  being,  —  you  with  whom  the 
■  soul,  yea,  the  soul  of  the  soul,  our  conscience 
and  morality,  are  but  the  tune  from  a  fragUe 
barrel-organ  played  by  air  and  water,  and  whose 
life,  therefore,  must  of  course  be  a  pointing  to 
—  as  of  a  Marcellus  or  a  Hamlet  —  "  'T  is  here  ! 
'T  is  gone !  "  Were  it  possible  that  I  could 
actually  believe  such  a  system,  I  should  not  be 
scared  from  striking  it,  from  its  being  so  majes- 
tical  I 

THE  The  old  law  of  England  punishes  those  who 

dig  up  the  bones  of  the  dead  for  superstitious 
or  magical  purposes,  that  is,  in  order  to  injure 
the  living.  What,  then,  are  they  guilty  of  who 
uncover  the  dormitories  of  the  dejiarted,  and 
throw  their  souls  into  hell,  in  order  to  cast  odium 
on  a  living  truth  ? 

Darwin  possesses  the  epidermis  of  poetry  but 
not  the  cutis;  the  cortex  without  the  liher,  alhur- 
236 


GREATER 
DAMNA- 
TION 


ANIMA  POET^ 


num^  Uffmim,  or  medulla.     And  no  wonder  !  for  darwix's 
the  inner  bark  or  llher,  alburnum,  and  wood  are 


CAL  GAR- 
DEN 


TEEN  HUX- 
AXD 
SIXTY 
AKDS 


one  and  the  same  substance,  in  different  periods 
of  existence. 

"  It  is  a  mile  and  a  half  in  height."     "  How  sevex- 
much  is  that  in  yards  or  feet  ?  "     The  mind  rests  ^ukd 
satisfied  in  producing   a   correspondency  in   its  ^.' 
own  thouohts,   and   in   the   exponents  of   those  ^'^'^  ex- 

m     •  1  1       ACTLY  A 

thoughts.  This  seems  to  be  a  matter  purely  mile 
analytic,  not  yet  properly  synthetic.  It  is  rather 
an  interchange  of  equivalent  acts,  but  not  the 
same  acts.  In  the  yard  I  am  prospective  ;  in  the 
mile  I  seem  to  be  retrospective.  Come,  a  hun- 
dred strides  more,  and  we  shall  have  come  a 
mile.  This,  if  true,  may  be  a  subtlety,  but 
is  it  necessarily  a  trifle  ?  May  not  many  com- 
mon but  false  conclusions  originate  in  the  neg- 
lect of  this  distinction  —  in  the  confounding  of 
'objective  and  subjective  logic  ? 

I  like  salt  to  my  meat  so  well  that  I  can  scarce  of  a  too 
say  grace  over  meat  without  salt.  But  salt  to  book 
one's  salt !  Ay !  a  sparkling,  dazzling,  lit-up 
saloon  or  subterranean  minster  in  a  vast  mine  of 
rock-salt  —  what  of  it  ?  —  full  of  white  pillars 
and  aisles  and  altars  of  eye-dazzling  salt.  Well, 
what  of  it  ?  —  't  were  an  uncomfortable  lodging 
or  boarding  house  —  in  short,  all  my  eye.  Now, 
I  am  content  with  a  work  if  it  be  but  my  eye  and 
Betty  Martin,  because,  having  never  heard  any 
charge  against  the  author  of  the  adage,  candor 
obliges  me  to  conclude  that  Eliza  IMartin  is 
"  sense  for  certain."  In  short,  never  was  a  meta- 
phor more  lucky,  apt,  raraescent,  and  fructiferous 
237 


ANIMA  POETiE 

—  a  hundred  branches,  and  each  hung  with  a 
different  graft-fruit  —  than  salt  as  tyi3ical  of  wit 

—  the  uses  of  both  being  the  same,  not  to  nour- 
ish, but  to  season  and  preserve  nourishment. 
Yea !  even  when  there  is  plenty  of  good  substan- 
tial meat  to  incorporate  with,  stout  aitch-bone 
and  buttock,  still  there  may  be  too  much ;  and 
they  who  confine  themselves  to  such  meals  will 
contract  a  scorbutic  habit  of  intellect  (i.  e.,  a 
scurvy  taste),  and,  with  loose  teeth  and  tender 
gums,  become  incapable  of  chewing  and  digest- 
ing hard  matters  of  mere  plain  thinking. 

It  is  thus  that  the  Glanvillians  reason.  First, 
they  assume  the  facts  as  objectively  as  if  the  ques- 
tion related  to  the  experimentable  of  our  senses. 
Secondly,  they  take  the  imaginative  possibility 

—  that  is,  that  the  [assumed]  facts  involve  no 
contradiction,  [as  if  it  were]  a  scientific  possibil- 
ity. And,  lastly,  they  [advocate]  them  as  proofs 
of  a  spiritual  world  and  our  own  immortality. 
This  last  [I  hold  to]  be  the  greatest  insult  to 
conscience  and  the  greatest  incongruity  with  the 
objects  of  religion. 

N.  B.  It  is  amusing,  in  all  ghost  stories,  etc., 
that  the  recorders  are  "  the  farthest  in  the  world 
from  being  credulous,"  or  "  as  far  from  believing 
such  things  as  any  man." 

If  a  man  could  pass  through  Paradise  in  a 
dream,  and  have  a  flower  presented  to  him  as  a 
pledge  that  his  soul  had  really  been  there,  and  if 
he  found  that  flower  in  his  hand  when  he  awoke 

—  Ay !  and  what  then  ? 

238 


ANIMA  POETJE 

The   more  exquisite  and   delicate  a  flower  of 
joy,  the  tenderer  must  be  the  hand  that  plucks  it. 

Floods  and  general  inundations  render  for  the 
time  even  the  purest  springs  turbid. 

For  compassion  a  human   heart  suffices ;  but 
for  full,  adequate  sympathy  with  joy,  an  angel's. 
239 


CHAPTER  X. 


1S19-182S. 


THE 

moon's 

HALO  AN 
EMBLEM 
OF  HOPE 


Where'er  I  find  the  Good,  the  True,  the  Fair, 
I  ask  uo  uames  —  God's  spirit  dwelleth  there  ! 
The  uuconfounded,  undivided  Three, 
Each  for  itself,  and  all  in  each,  to  see 
In  man  and  Nature,  is  Philosophy. 


S.  T.  C. 


The  moon,  rushing  onward  through  the  cours- 
ing clouds,  advances  like  an  indignant  warrior 
through  a  fleeing  army ;  but  the  amber  halo  in 
which  he  moves  —  O !  it  is  a  circle  of  Hope. 
For  what  she  leaves  behind  her  has  not  lost  its 
radiance  as  it  is  melting  away  into  oblivion, 
while,  still,  the  other  semicircle  catches  the  rich 
light  at  her  approach,  and  heralds  her  ongress. 


A  COM- 
PLEX 


It  is  by  strength  of  mind  that  we  are  to  un- 
vEXATioN  twist  the  tie  or  copula  of  the  besom  of  affliction, 
which  not  nature  but  the  strength  of  imagination 
had  twisted  round  it,  and  thus  resolve  it  into  its 
component  twigs,  and  conquer  in  detail  "one 
down  and  t'  other  come  on  "  !  Dlvidendo  dimi- 
nuitur  —  which  forms  the  true  ground  of  the 
advantage  accruing  from  communicating  our 
griefs  to  another.  We  enable  ourselves  to  see 
them  each  in  its  true  magTiitude. 


THE 
RIGHT- 
EOUS- 
NESS OF 
ENGLAND 


After   re-perusal  of    my   inefficient,   yet   not 
feeble  efforts  in  behalf  of  the  poor  little  white 
slaves  in  the  cotton-factories,  I  ask  myself,  "  But 
240 


ANIMA  POET^ 

still  are  we  not  better  than  the  other  nations  of 
Christendom?  "  Yes  —  Perhaps.  I  don't  know. 
I  dare  not  affirm  it.  Better  than  the  French  cer- 
tainly !  Mammon  versus  Moloch  and  Belial. 
But  Sweden,  Norway,  Germany,  the  Tyrol  ?    No. 

There  is  a  species  of  applause  scarcely  less  ge-  the 
nial  to  a  poet,  whether  bard,  musician,  or  ai'tist,  I^uaise 
than  the  vernal  warmth  to  the  feathered  songsters 
during  their  nest-building  or  incubation  —  a  sym- 
pathy, an  expressed  hope,  that  is  the  open  air  in 
which  the  poet  breathes,  and  without  which  the 
sense  of  power  sinks  back  on  itself  like  a  sigh 
heaved  up  from  the  tightened  chest  of  a  sick 
man.     Alas  !  alas !  alas ! 


Anonymity  is  now  an  artifice  to  acquire  celeb-  the 

GRKA 
UXKAOWX 


rity,  as  a  black  veil  is  worn  to  make  a  pair  of 


bright  eyes  more  conspicuous. 

For  the  same  reasons  that  we  cannot  now  act  book- 
by  impulses,  but  must  think,  so  now  must  every  for  leg- 
legislator  be  a  man  of  sound  book-learning,  be-  ^^^^^"^^ 
cause  he  cannot,  if  he  would,  think  or  act  from 
the  simple   dictates   of   unimproved   but    unde- 
praved   common    sense.      Newspapers,   reviews, 
and   the  conversation  of   men  who  derive  their 
opinions  from  newspapers  and  reviews  will  se- 
cure for  him  artificial  opinions,  if  he  does  not 
secure  them  for  himself  from  purer  and  more 
authentic  sources.     There  is  now  no  such  being 
as   a  country  gentleman.      Like    their   relation, 
the  Dodo,  the  race  is  extinct,  or  if  by  accident 
one  has  escaped,  it  belongs  to  the  Museum,  not 
to  active  life,  or  the  purposes  of  active  life. 
241 


ANBIA  POET^ 
THEISM  The  more  I  read  and  reflect  on  the  argruments 


AND 


ATHEISM  of  the  truly  philosophical  theists  and  atheists, 
the  more  I  feel  convinced  that  the  ultimate  dif- 
ference is  a  moral  rather  than  an  intellectual 
one ;  that  the  result  is  an  x  y  z,  an  acknowledged 
insufficiency  of  the  known  to  account  for  itself, 
and,  therefore,  a  something  unknown  —  that  to 
which,  while  the  atheist  leaves  it  a  blank  in  the 
understanding,  the  theist  dedicates  his  noblest 
feelings  of  love  and  awe,  and  with  which,  by  a 
moral  syllogism,  he  connects  and  unites  his  con- 
science and  actions.  For  the  words  goodness 
and  wisdom  are  clearly  only  reflexes  of  the  effect, 
just  as  when  we  call  the  unknown  cause  of  cold 
and  heat  by  the  name  of  its  effects,  and  know 
nothing  further.  For  if  we  mean  that  a  Being 
like  man,  with  human  goodness  and  intellect, 
only  magnified,  is  the  cause,  that  is,  that  the 
First  Cause  is  an  immense  man  (as  according  to 
Swedenborg  and  Zinzendorf),  then  come  the 
insoluble  difficulties  of  the  incongruity  of  quali- 
ties whose  very  essence  implies  finiteness,  with  a 
Being  ex  hypothesi  infinite. 


mind's 

EYE 


THE  An  excellent  instance  of  the  abstraction  [from 

objects  of  the  sense]  that  results  from  the  atten- 
tion converging  to  any  one  object  is  furnished 
by  the  oily  rags,  broken  saucers,  greasy  phials, 
dabs,  crusts,  and  smears  of  paints  in  the  labo- 
ratory of  a  Raphael,  or  a  Claude  Lorraine,  or 
a  Van  Huysum,  or  any  other  great  master  of 
the  beautiful  and  becoming,  In  like  manner, 
the  mud  and  clay  in  the  modelling  hand  of  a 
Chantrey  —  what  are  they  to  him  whose  total 
soul  is  awake,  in  his  eye  as  a  subject,  and  be- 
242 


ir 


ANIMA  PO£T^ 

fore  his  eye  as  some  ideal  of  beauty  ohjectively  ? 
The  various  objects  of  the  senses  are  as  little  the 
objects  of  his  senses,  as  the  ink  with  which  the 
"  Lear "  was  written  existed  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  Shakspere. 

The  humming-moth  with  its  glimmer-mist  of  a  land  ok 
rapid  unceasing  motion  before,  the  humble-bee  ^^^^^ 
within  the  flowering  bells  and  cups  —  and  the 
eagle  level  with  the  clouds,  himself  a  cloudy 
speck,  surveys  the  vale  from  mount  to  mount. 
From  the  cataract  flung  on  the  vale,  the  broadest 
fleeces  of  the  snowy  foam  light  on  the  bank  flow- 
ers or  the  water-lilies  in  the  stiller  pool  below. 

The  defect  of  Archbishop  Leighton's  reason-  time  and 
ing  is  the  taking  eternity  for  a  sort  of  time,  a  ^^'•^''-'^'^^ 
haro  major,  a  baron  of  beef  or  quarter  of  lamb, 
out  of  which  and  off  which  time  is  cut,  as  a  bris- 
ket or  shoulder,  —  while,  even  in  common  dis- 
course, without  any  design  of  sounding  the  depth 
of  the  truth  or  of  weighing  the  words  exjjressing 
it  in  the  hair-balance  of  metaphysics,  it  would  be 
more  convenient  to  consider  eternity  the  simul  et 
totum  as  the  antitheton  of  time. 


The  extraordinary  florency  of   letters   under  the  lit- 
the    Spanish   Caliphate   in  connection  with  the  stekilit 
character  and  capabilities   of   Mohammedanism  "/j/^^'*^^' 
has  never  yet  been  treated  as  its  importance  re- 
quires.    Halim  II.,  founder  of  the  University  of 
Cordova,  and  of  numerous  colleges  and  libraries 
throughout   Spain,  is   said  to  have  possessed  a 
library  of  six  hundred  thousand  MSS.,  the  cata- 
logue filling  forty -four  volumes.     Nor  were  his 
243 


ANIMA  POETiE 

successors  behind  him  in  zeal  and  munificence. 
That  the  prime  article  of  Islamism,  the  uni-per- 
sonality  of  God,  is  one  cause  of  the  downfall, 
say  rather  of  the  merely  meteoric  existence  of 
their  literary  age,  I  am  persuaded,  but  the  exclu- 
sive scene  (in  Spain)  suggests  many  interesting 
views.  With  a  learned  class  Mohammedanism 
could  not  but  pass  into  Deism,  and  Deism  never 
did,  never  can,  establish  itself  as  a  religion.  It 
is  the  doctrine  of  the  tri-unity  that  connects 
Christianity  with  philosophy,  gives  a  positive 
religion  a  specific  interest  to  the  philosopher, 
and  that  of  redemption  to  the  moralist  and 
psychologist.  Predestination,  in  the  plenitude, 
in  which  it  is  equivalent  to  fatalism,  was  the 
necessary  alternative  and  succedaneum  of  Re- 
demption, and  the  Incarnation  the  only  pre- 
servative against  pantheism  on  one  side,  and 
anthropomorphism  on  the  other.  The  Persian 
(Europeans  in  Asia)  form  of  Mohammedanism 
is  very  striking  in  this  point  of  view. 

THE  It  is  not  by  individual  character  that  an  indi- 

vidual can  derive  just  conclusions  respecting  a 
community  or  an  age.  Conclusions  so  drawn  are 
the  excuse  of  selfish,  narrow,  and  pusillanimous 
statesmen,  who,  by  dwelling  on  the  kindred  base- 
ness or  folly  of  the  persons  with  whom  they 
come  in  immediate  contact,  lose  all  faith  in 
human  nature,  ignorant  that  even  in  these  a 
spark  is  latent  which  would  light  up  and  con- 
sume the  worthless  overlay' in  a  national  moment. 
The  spirit  of  a  race  is  the  character  of  a  people, 
the  sleep  or  the  awakening  of  which  depends  on 
a  few  minds,  preordained  for  this  purpose,  and 
244 


SPIRIT  OF 
A  PEOPLE 


ANIMA  POET^E 

sometimes  by  the  mere  removal  of  the  dead 
weight  of  a  degenerate  Court  or  nobility  press- 
ing on  the  spring.  So  I  doubt  not  would  it  be 
with  the  Turks,  were  the  Porte  and  its  seraglio 
conquered  by  Russia.  But  the  spirit  of  a  race 
ought  never  to  be  sujiposed  extinct,  but  on  the 
other  hand  no  more  or  other  ought  to  be  ex- 
pected than  the  race  contains  in  itself.  The 
true  cause  of  the  irrecoverable  fall  of  Rome  is  to 
be  found  in  the  fact  that  Rome  was  a  city,  a 
handful  of  men  that  multiplied  its  subjects  in- 
comparably faster  than  its  citizens,  so  that  the 
latter  were  soon  dilute  and  lost  in  the  former. 
On  a  similar  principle  colonists  in  modern  times 
degenerate  by  excision  from  their  race  (the  an- 
cient colonies  were  huds).  This,  I  think,  ap- 
plies to  the  Neapolitans  and  most  of  the  Italian 
states.  A  nest  of  republics  keep  each  other 
alive  ;  but  a  patchwork  of  principalities  has  the 
effect  of  excision  by  insulation,  or  rather  by 
comjDressure !  How  long  did  the  life  of  Ger- 
many doze  under  these  ligatures !  Yet  did  we 
not  despair  wrongfidly  of  the  people  ?  The 
spirit  of  the  race  survived,  of  which  literature 
was  a  part.  Hence  I  dare  not  despair  of  Greece, 
because  it  has  been  barbarized  and  enslaved,  but 
not  split  up  into  puny  independent  governments 
under  princes  of  their  own  race.  The  Neapoli- 
tans have  always  been  a  conquered  people,  and 
degenerates  in  the  original  sense  of  the  word,  de 
genere  —  they  have  lost  their  race,  though  what 
it  was  is  uncertain.  Lastly,  the  individual  in  all 
things  is  the  prerogative  of  the  divine  know- 
ledge. What  it  is,  our  eyes  can  see  only  by 
what  it  has  in  common,  and  this  can  only  be 
245 


,/■  «-«.-»  *-w» 


FLIGHT  OF 
MOHAM 
51 KU 


ANIMA  POET^ 

seen  in  commnnitles  where  neither  excision,  nor 
ligature,  nor  commixture  exists.  Despotism  and 
superstition  will  not  extinguish  the  character  of 
a  race,  as  Russia  testifies.  But  again,  take  care 
to  understand  that  character,  and  expect  no 
other  fruit  than  the  root  contains  in  its  nature. 

THE  Had  I  proceeded,  in  concert  with  R.  Southey, 

with  the  "Flight  and  Return  of  Mohammed" 
[1799],  I  had  intended  to  introduce  a  disputa- 
tion between  Mahomet,  as  the  representative  of 
iinipersonal  Theism  with  the  Judaico-Christian 
machinery  of  angels,  genii,  and  prophets,  an  idol- 
ater with  his  gods,  heroes,  and  spirits  of  the 
departed  mighty,  and  a  fetich-worshipper  who 
adored  the  invisible  alone,  and  held  no  religion 
common  to  all  men  or  any  nmnber  of  men  other 
than  as  they  chanced  at  the  same  moment  to  be 
acted  on  by  the  same  influence  —  even  as  when  a 
hundred  ant-hills  are  in  motion  under  the  same 
burst  of  sunshine.  And,  still,  chiefly  for  the 
sake  of  the  last  scheme,  I  should  like  to  do  some- 
thing of  the  kind.  My  enlightened  fetich-divine 
would  have  been  an  Okenist,  a  zoo-magnetist,  and 
(a  priest  of)  the  night-side  of  Nature. 

[For  the  fragment  entitled  "  Mahomet,"  see 
P.  TF.,  1893,  p.  139,  and  editor's  Note,  p.  615.] 

PRU-  Among   the  countless  arguments  against  the 

Paleyans,  state  this  too :  Can  a  wise  moral  legis- 
lator have  made  iiTudcnce  the  true  principle- 
ground  and  guide  of  moral  conduct  where  in 
almost  all  cases  in  which  there  is  contemplation 
to  act  wrong  the  first  appearances  of  prudence 
are  in  favor  of  immorality,  and,  in  order  to 
246 


DEXCE 
VERSUS 
FRIEND- 
SHIP 


ANBIA  POET^ 

ground  the  contrary  on  a  principle  of  prudence, 
it  is  necessary  to  refine,  to  calculate,  to  look  far 
onward  into  an  uncertain  future  ?  Is  this  a 
guide,  or  primary  guide,  that  forever  requires  a 
guide  against  itself  ?  Is  it  not  a  strange  system 
which  sets  prudence  against  prudence?  Com- 
pare this  with  the  Law  of  Conscience.  Is  it  not 
its  specific  character  to  be  immediate,  positive, 
unalterable  ?  In  short,  a  'priori^  state  the  requi- 
sites of  a  moral  guide,  and  apply  them  first  to 
prudence,  and  then  to  the  law  of  pure  reason  or 
conscience,  and  ask  if  we  need  fear  the  result  if 
the  Judge  is  pure  from  all  bribes  and  prejudices. 

What  then  are  the  real  dictates  of  prudence  as 
drawn  from  every  man's  experience  in  late  man- 
hood, and  so  lured  from  the  intoxication  of  youth, 
hope,  and  love?  How  cold,  how  dead'ning,  what 
a  dire  vacuum  they  would  leave  in  the  soul,  if 
the  high  and  supreme  sense  of  duty  did  not 
form  a  root  out  of  which  new  prospects  budded. 
What,  I  say,  is  the  clear  dictate  of  prudence  in 
the  matter  of  friendship  ?  Assuredly  to  like  only, 
and  never  to  be  so  attached  as  to  be  stripped 
naked  by  the  loss.  A  friend  may  be  a  great- 
coat, a  beloved  a  couch,  but  never,  never  our 
necessary  clothing,  our  only  means  of  quiet  heart- 
repose  !  And,  yet,  with  this  the  mind  of  a  gen- 
erous man  would  be  so  miserable,  that  prudence 
itself  would  fight  against  prudence,  and  advise 
him  to  drink  off  the  draught  of  Hope,  spite  of  the 
horrid  and  bitter  dregs  of  disappointment,  with 
which  the  draught  will  assuredly  finish. 

Though  I  have  said  that  duty  is  a  consolation,  I 
have  not  affirmed  that  the  scar  of  the  wound*of 
disappointed  love  and  insulted,  betrayed  fidelity 
247 


ANIMA  POET^ 

woiild  be  removed  in  this  life.  No !  it  will  not 
—  nay,  the  very  duty  must  forever  keep  alive 
feelings  the  appropriate  objects  of  which  are 
indeed  in  another  world  ;  but  yet  our  human  na- 
ture cannot  avoid  at  times  the  connection  of  those 
feelings  with  their  original  or  their  first  forms 
and  objects  ;  and  so  far,  therefore,  from  removing 
the  scar,  will  often  and  often  make  the  wound 
open  and  bleed  afresh.  But,  still,  we  know  that 
the  feeling  is  not  objectless,  that  the  counterfeit 
has  a  correspondent  genuine,  and  this  is  the 
comfort. 

A  POET  ON      Canzone  xviii.  fra  le   Rime  di  Dante  is  a 

POETRY      pQgjjj  Qf  y^'i\^  and  interesting  images,  intended  as 

an  enigma,  and  to  me  an  enigma  it  remains,  spite 

of  all  my  efforts.     Yet  it  deserves  transcription 

and  translation,     a.  d.  1806.   [?  1807.] 

"  Tre  donne  intorno  al  cuor  mi  son  venute," 
etc. 

[After  the  four  first  lines  the  handwriting  is 
that  of  my  old,  dear,  and  honored  friend,  Mr. 
Wadeof  Bristol  — S.T.C.] 

Ramsgate,  Sept.  2,  1819.  I  begin  to  under- 
stand the  above  poem,  after  an  interval  from 
1805,  during  which  no  year  passed  in  which  I 
did  not  re-peruse,  I  might  say  construe,  parse,  and 
spell  it  twelve  times,  at  least  —  such  a  fascination 
had  it,  spite  of  its  obscurity  !  It  affords  a  good 
instance,  by  the  bye,  of  that  soul  of  universal 
significance  in  a  true  poet's  composition,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  specific  meaning. 

Great  minds  can  and  do  create  the  taste  of 
the  age,  and  one  of  the  contingent  causes  which 
248 


ANIMA  POET.E 

warp  the  taste  of  nations  and  ages  is,  that  men  great 
of  genius  in  part  yield  to  it,  and  in  part  are  little 
acted  on  by  the  taste  of  the  age.  minds 

Common  minds  may  be  compared  to  the  com- 
ponent drops  of  the  stream  of  life  —  men  of 
genius  to  the  large  and  small  bubbles.  What  if 
they  break  ?  they  are  still  as  good  as  the  rest  — 
drops  of  water. 

In  youth  our  happiness  is  hope ;  in  age  the  subject 
recollection  of  the  hopes  of  youth.  What  else  qbTect 
can  there  be?  —  for  the  substantial  mind,  for 
the  /,  what  else  can  there  be  ?  Pleasure  ? 
Fruition  ?  Filter  hope  and  memory  from  plea- 
sure, and  the  more  entire  the  fruition  the  more 
is  it  the  death  of  the  /.  A  neutral  product 
results  that  may  exist  for  others,  but  no  longer 
for  itself  —  a  coke  or  a  slag.  To  make  the 
object  one  with  us,  we  must  become  one  with 
the  object  —  ergo^  an  object.  Ergo^  the  object 
must  be  itself  a  subject  —  partially  a  favorite 
dog,  principally  a  friend,  wholly  God,  the  Friend. 
God  is  Love  —  that  is,  an  object  that  is  abso- 
lutely subject  (God  is  a  spirit),  but  a  subject 
that  forever  condescends  to  become  the  object 
for  those  that  meet  Him  subjectively.  [As  in 
the]  Eucharist,  [He  is]  verily  and  truly  present 
to  the  Faithful,  neither  [by  a]  trans  nor  con^ 
but  [by]  sub&tantiation. 

We  might  as  well  attempt  to  conceive  more  the 
than  three  dimensions  of   space,  as  to  imagine  estates 
more  than  three  kinds  of  living  existence  —  God,  ^^  being 
man,   and   beast.     And   even  of  these  the  last 
249 


ANIMA  POET^ 

(division)  is  obscure,  and  scarce  endures  a  fixed 
contemplation  without  passing  into  an  unripe  or 
degenerated  humanity. 

A  LIFE-  My  mother  told  my  wife  that  I   was  a  year 

ERROR  younger,  and  that  there  was  a  blunder  made 
either  in  the  baptismal  register  itself  or  in  the 
transcript  sent  for  my  admission  into  Christ's 
Hospital ;  and  Mrs.  C,  who  is  older  than  myself, 
believes  me  only  48.  Be  this  as  it  may,  in  life^ 
if  not  in  years,  I  am,  alas !  nearer  to  68. 

[S.  T.  C.  was  born  on  October  21,  1772. 
Consequently,  on  October  20,  1819,  he  was  not 
yet  forty-seven.  He  entered  his  forty-eighth  year 
October  21,  1819.] 

AN  UN-  N.  B.     A  sonnet  on  the  child  collecting  shells 

and  pebbles  on  the  sea-shore  or  lake-side,  and 
carrying  each  with  a  fresh  shout  of  delight  and  ad- 
miration to  the  mother's  apron,  who  smiles  and 
assents  to  each.  "  This  is  pretty !  "  "  Is  not 
that  a  nice  one?"  and  then  when  the  prattler 
is  tired  of  its  conchozetetic  labors  lifts  up  her 
apron  and  throws  them  out  on  her  apron. 
Such  are  our  first  discoveries  both  in  science 
and  philosophy.  —  S.  T.  Coleridge,  Oct.  21, 
1819. 


SONNET 


AND 

SHAK- 

SPEKE 


MILTON  Found  Mr.  G.  with  Hartley  in   the   garden, 

attempting  to  explain  to  himself  and  to  Hartley 
a  feeling  of  a  something  not  present  in  Milton's 
works,  that  is,  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  "  Paradise 
Regained,"  and  "  Samson  Agonistes,"  which  he 
did  feel  delightedly  in  the  "  Lycidas,"  and  (as  I 
added  afterwards)  in  the  Italian  sonnets  com- 
250 


ANIMA  POET^ 

pared  with  the  English.  And  this  appeared  to 
me  to  be  the  i^oet  appearing  and  wishing  to  ap- 
pear as  the  poet,  and,  likewise,  as  the  man,  as 
much  as,  though  more  rare  than,  the  father,  the 
brother,  the  preacher,  and  the  patriot.  Compare 
with  Milton,  Chaucer's  "  Fall  of  the  Leaf  "  and 
Spenser  throughout,  and  you  cannot  but  feel 
what  Gillman  meant  to  convey.  What  is  the 
solution  ?  This,  I  believe  —  but  I  must  premise 
that  there  is  a  synthesis  of  intellectual  insight 
including  the  mental  object,  the  organ  of  the 
correspondent  being  indivisible,  and  this  (O 
deep  truth !)  because  the  objectivity  consists  in 
the  universality  of  its  subjectiveness  —  as  when 
it  sees,  and  millions  see  even  so,  and  the  seeing 
of  the  millions  is  what  constitutes  to  A  and  to 
each  of  the  millions  the  objectivity  of  the  sight, 
the  equivalent  to  a  common  object  —  a  synthesis 
of  thisy  I  say,  and  of  proper  external  object 
which  we  call  fact.  Now,  this  it  is  which  we 
find  in  religion.  It  is  more  than  philosophical 
truth  —  it  is  other  and  more  than  historical  fact ; 
it  is  not  made  up  by  the  addition  of  the  one  to 
the  other,  but  it  is  the  identity  of  both,  the 
co-inherence. 

Now,  this  being  understood,  I  proceed  to  say, 
using  the  term  objectivity  (arbitrarily,  I  grant), 
for  this  identity  of  truth  and  fact,  that  Milton 
hid  the  poetry  in  or  transformed  (not  trans-sub- 
stantiated) the  poetry  into  this  objectivity,  while 
Shakspere,  in  all  things,  the  divine  opposite  or 
antithetic  correspondent  of  the  divine  Milton, 
transformed  the  objectivity  into  poetry. 

Mr.  G.  observed  as  peculiar  to  the  "  Hamlet," 
that  it  alone,  of  all  Shakspere's  plays,  presented 
251 


ANIMA  POET^ 


to  hini  a  moving  along  hefore  him;  while  in 
others  it  was  a  moving,  indeed,  but  with  which 
he  himself  moved  equally  in  all  and  with  all,  and 
without  any  external  something  by  which  the  mo- 
tion was  manifested,  even  as  a  man  would  move 
in  a  balloon  —  a  sensation  of  motion,  but  not  a 
sight  of  moving  and  having  been  moved.  And 
why  is  this  ?  Because  of  all  the  characters  of 
Shakspere's  plays  Hamlet  is  the  only  character 
with  which,  by  contradistinction  from  the  rest 
of  the  dramatis  persona;,  the  fit  and  capable 
reader  identifies  himself  as  the  representation  of 
his  own  contemplative  and  strictly  proper  and 
very  own  being  (action,  etc.,  belongs  to  others,  the 
moment  we  call  it  our  own)  —  hence  the  events 
of  the  play,  with  all  the  characters,  move  because 
you  stand  still.  In  the  other  plays,  your  identity 
is  equally  diffused  over  all.  Of  no  parts  can 
you  say,  as  in  Hamlet,  they  are  moving.  But 
ever  it  is  we,  or  that  period  and  portion  of  human 
action,  which  is  unified  into  a  dream,  even  as  in 
a  dream  the  personal  unity  is  diffused  and  sever- 
alized  (divided  to  the  sight  though  united  in  the 
dim  feeling)  into  a  sort  of  reality.  Even  so  [it 
is  with]  the  styles  of  Milton  and  Shakspere  — 
the  same  weight  of  effect  from  the  exceeding 
felicity  (subjectively)  of  Shakspere,  and  the  ex- 
ceeding propriety  (extra  arhitriurn)  of  Milton. 


A  ROYAL 
ROAD  TO 
KNOW- 
LEDGE 


The  best  plan,  I  think,  for  a  man  who  would 
wish  his  mind  to  continue  growing  is  to  find,  in 
the  first  place,  some  means  of  ascertaining  for 
himself  whether  it  does  or  no ;  and  I  can  think 
of  no  better  than  early  in  life,  say  after  three 
and  twenty,  to  procure  gradually  the  works  of 
252 


ANIMA  POET^ 

some  two  or  three  great  writers  —  say,  for  in- 
stance, Bacon,  Jeremy  Taylor,  and  Kant,  with 
the  De  Republican  De  Legibus,  the  SopJiistes^ 
and  Politicus  of  Plato,  and  the  Poeticfi,  Rhet- 
orics,  and  Politics  of  Aristotle  —  and  amidst  all 
other  reading,  to  make  a  point  of  re-perusing 
some  one,  or  some  weighty  part  of  some  one, 
of  these  every  four  or  five  years,  having  from 
the  beginning  a  separate  notebook  for  each 
of  these  writers,  in  which  your  impressions, 
suggestions,  conjectures,  doubts,  and  judgments 
are  to  be  recorded  with  date  of  each,  and  so 
worded  as  to  represent  most  sincerely  the  exact 
state  of  your  convictions  at  the  time,  such  as 
they  woidd  be  if  you  did  not  (which  this  plan 
will  assuredly  make  you  do  sooner  or  later)  an- 
ticipate a  change  in  them  from  increase  of  know- 
ledge. "  It  is  possible  that  I  am  in  the  wrong, 
but  so  it  now  appears  to  me,  after  my  best  at- 
tempts ;  and  I  must  therefore  put  it  down  in 
order  that  I  may  find  myself  so,  if  so  I  am."  It 
would  make  a  little  volume  to  give  in  detail  all 
the  various  moral  as  well  as  intellectual  ad- 
vantages that  would  result  from  the  systematic 
observation  of  the  plan.  Diffidence  and  hope 
would  reciprocally  balance  and  excite  each  other. 
A  continuity  would  be  given  to  your  being,  and 
its  progressiveness  ensured.  All  your  knowledge 
otherwise  obtained,  whether  from  books  or  con- 
versation or  experience,  would  find  centres  round 
which  it  would  organize  itself.  And,  lastly,  the 
habit  of  confuting  your  past  self,  and  detecting 
the  causes  and  occasions  of  your  having  mis- 
taken or  overlooked  the  truth,  will  give  you  both 
a  quickness  and  a  winning  kindness,  resulting 
253 


ANIMA  POET^ 

from  sympathy,  in  exposing  tlie  errors  of  others, 
as  if  you  were  an  alter  ego,  of  his  mistake.  And 
such,  indeed,  will  your  antagonist  appear  to  you, 
another  past  self  —  in  all  points  in  which  the 
falsity  is  not  too  plainly  a  derivation  from  a  cor- 
rupt heart  and  the  predominance  of  bad  passion 
or  worldly  interests  overlaying  the  love  of  truth 
as  truth.  And  even  in  this  case  the  liveliness 
with  which  you  will  so  often  have  expressed  your- 
self in  your  private  notebooks,  in  which  the 
words,  unsought  for  and  untrimmed  because  in- 
tended for  your  own  eye  exclusively,  were  the 
first-born  of  your  first  impressions,  when  you  were 
either  enkindled  by  admiration  of  your  writer,  or 
excited  by  a  humble  disputing  with  him,  reimper- 
sonated  in  his  book,  will  be  of  no  mean  rhetorical 
advantage  to  you,  especially  in  public  and  extem- 
porary debate  or  animated  conversation. 

THE  Did  3^ou  deduce  your  own  being  ?     Even  that 

GOD  is  less  absurd  than  the  conceit  of  deducing  the 

Divine  being  ?  Never  would  you  have  had  the 
notion,  had  you  not  had  the  idea  —  rather,  had 
V  not  the  idea  worked  in  you  like  the  memory  of  a 
name  which  we  cannot  recollect  and  yet  feel  that 
we  have,  and  which  reveals  its  existence  in  the 
mind  only  by  a  restless  anticipation,  and  proves 
its  a  ijriori  actuality  by  the  almost  explosive  in- 
stantaneity  with  which  it  is  welcomed  and  recog- 
nized on  its  reemersion  out  of  the  cloud,  or  its 
re-ascent  from  the  horizon  of  consciousness. 

APHOR-  I  should  like  to  know  whether,  or  how  far  the 

ADAGES      delight  I  feel,  and  have  always  felt,  in  adages  or 
aphorisms  of  universal  or  very  extensive  appli- 
254 


ANIMA  POET-S: 

cation  is  a  general  or  common  feeling  with  men, 
or  a  peculiarity  of  my  own  mind.  I  cannot  de- 
scribe how  much  pleasure  I  have  derived  from 
"  Extremes  meet,"  for  instance,  or  "  Treat  every- 
thing according  to  its  nature,"  and,  the  last, 
"  Be  "  !  In  the  last  I  bring  all  inward  rectitude 
to  its  test,  in  the  former  all  outward  morality  to 
its  rule,  and  in  the  fii'st  all  problematic  results 
to  their  solution,  and  reduce  apparent  contraries 
to  correspondent  opposites.  How  many  hostile 
tenets  has  it  enabled  me  to  contemplate  as  frag- 
ments of  truth,  false  only  by  negation  and  mu- 
tual exclusion  ? 

I   have   myself   too   often   of    late   used   the  ignore 
phrase  "  rational   self-love  "   the   same   as  "  en-  juiy  ij, 
lightened  self-love."     O  no  more  of  this !     What  ^^~^ 
have  love,  reason,  or  light  to  do  with  self,  except 
as  the  dark,  and  evil   spirit  which  it  is  given 
to  them  to  overcome !    Soul-love,  if  you  please. 
O  there  is  more  stuff  of  thought  in  our  simple 
and  pious  fore-elders'  adjuration,  "  Take  pity  of 
your  poor  soul !  "  than   in   all   the   volumes   of 
Paley,  Rochefoucauld,  and  Helve  tins  ! 


LEO 


N.  B.  The  injurious  manner  in  which  men  rugit 
of  genius  are  treated,  not  only  as  authors,  but 
even  when  they  are  in  social  company.  A  is  be- 
lieved to  be,  or  talked  of  as,  a  man  of  unusual 
talent.  People  are  anxious  to  meet  him.  If  he 
says  little  or  nothing,  they  wonder  at  the  report, 
never  considering  whether  they  themselves  were 
fit  either  to  excite,  or  if  self-excited  to  receive 
and  comprehend  him.  But  with  the  simplicity 
of  genius  he  attributes  more  to  them  than  they 
255 


ANIMA  POET^ 

have,  and  tliey  put  questions  that  cannot  be 
answered  but  by  a  return  to  first  principles,  and 
then  they  complain  of  him  as  not  conversing,  but 
lecturing.  "  He  is  quite  intolerable,"  "  Might 
as  well  be  hearing  a  sermon."  In  short,  in  an- 
swer to  some  objection,  A  replies,  "  Sir,  this 
rests  on  the  distinction  between  an  idea  and  an 
image,  and,  likewise,  its  difference  from  a  per- 
fect conception."  "  Pray,  sir,  explain."  Be- 
cause he  does  not  and  cannot  [state  the  case  as 
concisely  as  if  he  had  been  appealed  to  about  a 
hand  at]  whist,  't  is,  "  Lord !  how  long  he  talks," 
and  they  never  ask  themselves,  Did  this  man 
force  himself  into  your  company  ?  Was  he  not 
dragged  into  it  ?  What  is  the  practical  result  ? 
That  the  man  of  genius  should  live  as  much  as 
possible  with  beings  that  simply  love  him,  from 
.nrro-.  relationship  or  old  association,  or  with  those  that 
have  the  same  feelings  with  himself ;  but  in  all 
other  company  he  will  do  well  to  cease  to  be  the 
man  of  genius,  and  make  up  his  mind  to  appear 
dull  or  commonplace  as  a  companion,  to  be  the 
most  silent  except  upon  the  most  trivial  subjects 
of  any  in  the  company,  to  turn  off  questions 
with  a  joke  or  a  pun  as  not  suiting  a  wine-table, 
and  to  trust  only  to  his  writings. 

A  BROKEN  Few  die  of  a  broken  heart,  and  these  few  (the 
surgeons  tell  us)  know  nothing  of  it,  and,  dying 
suddenly,  leave  to  the  dissector  the  first  discov- 
ery. O  this  is  but  the  shallow  remark  of  a  hard 
and  unthinking  prosperity!  Have  you  never 
seen  a  stick  broken  in  the  middle,  and  yet  coher- 
ing by  the  rind  ?  The  fibres,  half  of  them  actu- 
ally broken  and  the  rest  sprained  and,  though 
256 


ANIMA  POET^ 

tough,  unsustalning  ?  O  many,  many  are  the 
broken-hearted  for  those  who  know  what  the 
moral  and  practical  heart  of  the  man  is  ! 

Now  the  breeze  through  the  stiff  and  brittle- 
becoming  foliage  of  the  trees  counterfeits  the 
sound  of  a  rushing  stream  or  water-flood  suddenly 
sweejjing  by.  The  sigh,  the  modulated  continu- 
ousness  of  the  murmur,  is  exchanged  for  the  con- 
fusion of  overtaking  sounds  —  the  self -evolution 
of  the  One  for  the  clash  or  stroke  of  ever-com- 
mencing contact  of  the  multitudinous,  without 
interspace,  by  confusion.  The  short  gusts  rustle,  vox 
and  the  ear  feels  the  unlithesome  dryness  before  Thursday 
the  eye  detects  the  coarser,  duller,  though  deeper  ^^|*-  '^' 
green,  deadened  and  not  [yet]  awakened  into 
the  hues  of  decay  —  echoes  of  spring  from  the 
sepulchral  vault  of  winter.  The  aged  year,  con- 
versant with  the  forms  of  its  youth  and  forget- 
ting all  the  intervals,  feebly  reproduces  them, 
[as  it  were,  from]  memory. 

"  Constancy   lives    in   realms   above."      This  con- 
exclusion  of  constancy  from  the  list  of  earthly  PrkTay, 
virtues  may  be  a  poet's  exaggeration,  but,  cer-  ^"  g®  ^' 
tainly,  it  is  of  far  rarer  occurrence  in  all  rela- 
tions of  life  than  the  young  and  warm-hearted 
are  willing  to  believe,  but  in  cases  of  exclusive 
attachment  (that  is,  in  Love,  properly  so-called, 
and  yet  distinct  from  Friendship),  and  in  the 
highest  form  of  the  Virtue,  it  is  so  rare  'that  I 
cannot   help   doubting  whether   an   instance  of 
mutual  constancy  in   effect   ever   existed.     For 
there  are  two  sorts  of  constancy :   the  one  neg- 
ative, where  there  is  no  transfer  of   affection, 
257 


ANIMA  POET^ 

where  the  bond  of  attachment  is  not  broken 
though  it  may  be  attenuated  to  a  thread  —  this 
may  be  met  with,  not  so  seldom,  and  where 
there  is  goodness  of  heart  it  may  be  expected; 
but  the  other  sort,  or  positive  constancy,  where 
the  affection  endures  in  the  same  intensity  with 
the  same  or  increased  tenderness  and  nearness^ 
of  this  it  is  that  I  doubt  whether  once  in  an  age 
an  instance  occurs  where  A  feels  it  toward  £, 
and  B  feels  it  towards  A,  and  vice  versa. 

FLOWERS  Spring  flowers,  I  have  observed,  look  best  in 
LKJHT  the  day,  and  by  sunshine ;  but  summer  and  autum- 
April  18,  jj^i  flower-pots  by  lamp  or  candle  light.  I  have 
now  before  me  a  flower-pot  of  cherry  blossoms, 
polyanthuses,  double  violets,  periwinkles,  wall- 
flowers, but  how  dim  and  dusky  they  look.  The 
scarlet  anemone  is  an  exception,  and  three  or 
four  of  them  with  all  the  rest  of  the  flower-glass 
sprays  of  white  blossoms,  and  one  or  two  peri- 
winkles for  the  sake  of  the  dark  green  leaves, 
green  stems,  and  flexible  elegant  form,  make  a 
lovely  group  both  by  sun  and  by  candle  light. 

THE  Grove,  Highgate. 

BREATH  What  an  interval !     Heard  the  singing  birds 

Fb^'28       *^^^  morning   in    our  garden  for  the  first  time 

1827  this  year,  though  it  rained  and  blew  fiercely; 

but  the  long  frost  has  broken  up,  and  the  wind, 

though  fierce,  was  warm  and  westerly. 


THE  IDEA 


To    the    right    understanding    of    the    most 

Ma^^s^     awfully   concerning   declaration   of   Holy  Writ 

1*^27  there  has  been  no  greater  obstacle  than  the  want 

of  insight  into  the  nature  of  Life  —  what  it  is, 

258 


ANIMA   POETJC 

and  what  it  is  not.  But  in  order  to  this,  the 
mind  must  have  been  raised  to  the  contemplation 
of  the  Idea  —  the  life  celestial,  to  wit  —  or  the 
distinctive  essence  and  character  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  Here  Life  is  Love  —  communicative, 
outpouring  love.  Ergo,  the  terrestrial  or  the 
Life  of  Nature  ever  the  shadow  and  opposite  of 
the  Divine  is  appropriate,  absorbing  appetence. 
But  the  great  mistake  is,  that  the  soul  cannot 
continue  without  life  ;  for,  if  so,  with  what  pro- 
priety can  the  portion  of  the  reprobate  soul  be 
called  Death?  What  if  the  natural  life  have 
two  possible  terminations  —  true  Being,  and  the 
falling  back  into  the  dark  Will  ? 

The  painter  parson,  Rev.  Mr.  Judkin,  is  about  a  com- 
to  show  off  a  Romish  priest  converted  to  the  sive  for- 
Protestant  belief,  on  Sunday  next  at  his  church, 
and  asked  of  me  (this  day,  at  Mr.  Gray's,  Friday, 
27th  July,  1827)  whether  I  knew  of  any  form 
of  recantation  but  that  of  Archbishop  Tenison. 
I  knew  nothing  of  Tenison's  or  any  other,  but 
expressed  my  opinion  that  no  other  recantation 
ought  to  be  required"^  than  a  declaration  that  he 
admitted  no  outward  authority  superior  to,  or 
coordinate  with,  the  canonical  Scriptures,  and 
no  interpreter  that  superseded  or  stood  in  the 
place  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  enlightening  the  mind 
of  each  true  believer,  according  to  his  individual 
needs.  I  can  conceive  a  person  holding  all  the 
articles  that  distinguish  the  Romish  from  the 
Protestant  conception,  with  this  one  exception ; 
and,  yet,  if  he  did  make  this  exception,  and  pro- 
fessed to  believe  them,  because  he  thought  they 
were  contained  in,  or  to  be  fairly  inferred  from, 
•        259 


MULA 


ANIMA  POET^ 

right  reason  and  the  Scriptures,  I  should  con- 
sider him  as  true  a  Protestant  as  Luther,  Knox, 
or  Calvin,  and  a  far  better  than  Laud  and  his 
compeers,  however  meanly  I  might  think  of  him 
as  a  philosopher  and  theologian.  The  laying  so 
great  a  stress  on  transubstantiation  I  have  long 
regarded  as  the  great  calamity  or  error  of  the 
Reformation  —  if  not  constrained  by  circum- 
stances, the  great  error  —  or,  if  constrained,  the 
great  calamity. 

The  sweet  prattle  of  the  chimes  —  counsellors 
pleading  in  the  court  of  Love  —  then  the  clock, 
^"s«st  1,  the  solemn  sentence  of  the  mighty  Judge  —  long 
pause  between  each  pregnant,  inappellable  word, 
too  deeply  weighed  to  be  reversed  in  the  High- 
Justice-Court  of  Time  and  Fate.  A  more  richly 
solemn  sound  than  this  eleven  o'clock  at  Ant- 
werp I  never  heard  —  dead  enough  to  be  opaque 
as  central  gold,  yet  clear  enough  to  be  the  moun- 
tain air. 

260 


THE 

NIGHT  IS 
AT  HAND 


INDEX  OF  PROPER  NAMES 


Abergavenny,  the,  112. 

Achilles,  21. 

Adam,  42. 

Adar  River,  221. 

Africa,  59,  60. 

Alexander  the  Great,  217. 

Alfieri,  IIU. 

Allen,  Robert,  118. 

Allstou,  Washington,  141,  148. 

Anacreon,  155,  223. 

Antonio,  St.,  65. 

Antwerp,  260. 

Aphrodite,  162. 

Apollo,  ',13. 

Ariosto,  128,  194. 

Aristotle,  155,  187,  227,  253. 

Arne,  228. 

Arrian,  155. 

Augustine,  St.,  151. 

Bacon,  F.  (Lord  Verulam),  17, 

67,  128,  150,  155,  253. 
Ball,  Sir  Alexander,  174. 
Ball,  Lady,  77. 
Barrow,  J.,  21,  39. 
Bassenthwaite,  15. 
Barclay,  W.  ("  Argenis  "),  175. 
Beaumont,  Francis,  175. 
Beaumont,  Sir  George,  57,  67, 

123. 
Beaumont,  Lady,  56. 
Beddoes,  Thomas,  M.  D.,  201. 
Bentham,  108. 
Berkeley,  Bishop,  155. 
Bernard,  St.,  231. 
Bemouilli,  128. 
Beverly,  Robert,  80. 
Blackraore,  20,  228. 
Blount,  Sir  Edward,  53. 
Blumenbaeli,  57. 
Boccaccio,  38. 
Bonnet,  128. 
Borrowdale,  28,  29,  43. 
Bosc,  155. 
Boyer,  J.,  .38. 
Brandelhow,  38. 
Bristol,  248. 
Brunck,  155. 
Brougham,  Lord,  212. 


Brown,  Dr.  J.,  12.  index  ok 

Browne,  William,  133.  pkoheu 

Bruno,  Giordano,  13, 14,  60,  61,  names 

128. 
Buffon,  177. 
Buonaparte,  63. 
Bmdett,  Sir  F.,  147,  216. 
Burton,  Robert,  20. 

Cain,  42. 

Cairns,  Mr.  J.,  8. 

Calvin,  260. 

Cambridge,  180. 

Campbell,  T.,  132. 

Camijeachy,  Bay  of,  175. 

Caracciolo,  73. 

Caernarvon  Castle,  60. 

Castle  Crag,  28. 

Castlerigg,  36. 

Catullus,  140. 

Ceciha,  St.,  169. 

Ceres,  93. 

Cervantes,  128. 

Chantrey,  242. 

Charlemag^ne,  144. 

Chartreuse,  101. 

Chaucer,  251. 

China,  23,  112,  128. 

Christ's  Hospital,  38,  250. 

Cicero,  18. 

Circe,  162. 

Clarkson,  Thomas,  19. 

Clarkson,  Mrs.,  142. 

Claudian,  139. 

Clotharius,  178. 

Cobbett,  W.,  64,  216. 

Cochrane  (Earl  of  Dtmdonald), 

200. 
Coleorton,  144. 
Coleridge,  Berkeley,  101. 
Coleridge,  Derwent,  15, 24, 101. 
Coleridge,  Hartley,   3,  11,  13, 

19,  33,  34   55,  81,  115,  250. 
Coleridge,  Colonel  James,  133. 
Coleridge,  S.  T.,  7.  18,  54,  63, 

87, 118,  1.32-i;34, 143, 150, 172, 

173,  179,  205.  250. 
Coleridge,    Sara    (Mrs.    S.    T. 

Coleridge),  7, 184,  250. 


261 


INDEX   OF   PROPER  NAMES 


INDEX  OF    Coleridge,   Sara   (Mrs.   H.  N. 
PKOPEK  Coleridge),  101,  17(3. 

NAMES  Collins,  4. 

Combe,  St.,  109. 

Combe  Satchfield,  133. 

Condillac,  67. 

Coiistantiue,     Budfeo  -  Tusan, 
150. 

Cordova,  243. 

Cottle,  Joseph,  50,  73,  198. 

Courier  office,  163,  172. 

Cowper,  William,  103,  108. 

Cuthill,  IVIr.,  154,  1.55. 

Dampier,  Travels  of,  175. 
Dante,  20,  128,  194,  248. 
Darwin,  Dr.,  2,  3,  78,  128,  236. 
Davy,  Sir  H.,  184. 
Deuuison,  Mr.,  122,  123. 
De  Quineey,  150,  155. 
Diogenes,  82. 
Domitian,  134. 
D'Orville,  155. 
Drayton,  130. 
Dresden,  72. 
Dryden,  134. 
Duke  Richard,  133. 
Dmidas  (Lord  Melville),  128. 
Duns  Scotus,  187. 
Durham,  29. 
Dyer,  George,  7  n.,  56. 

Edgeworth,  Miss,  99. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  195. 

Empedocles,  138. 

Epictetus,  155. 

Erigena,  Joannes  Scotns,  48. 

Escot,  132. 

Etna,  97. 

Euphormio,  175. 

Exeter,  56. 

Favell,  22. 

Fay,  Benedict,  130. 

F^nelon,  113. 

Fichte,  89,  112,  143,  155. 

Fielding,  141. 

Flamiiiius,  175,  222. 

Fletcher,  John,  175. 

Fracastorius,  125,  175,  222. 

France,  (33,  108, 128. 

Geddes,  Dr.  Alexander,  92. 
Geneva,  Lake  of,  221. 
Genoa,  5. 
Germany,  6,  127,  128,  143,  241, 

245. 
Gibbon,  230. 

Gillman,  James,  250,  251. 
Gillman,  Mrs.,  2:31. 
Glanvillians,  the,  238. 


Godwin,  W.,  11,  37,  57. 
Goethe,  194. 
Gottingen,  57. 
Grasmere,  64,  112. 
Gray,  Thomas,  4,  228. 
Greece,  93,  150,  174,  245. 
Greenough,  57. 
Greta  River,  1(;,  24,  35,  36. 
Greta  Hall,  l!S4. 
GreviUe,  Fidk,  14. 
Grysdale  Pike,  16,  39. 
Guariui,  161. 
Guyon,  Madame,  113,  128. 

Haarlem,  56. 
HaHm  II.,  243. 
Hamburg,  85. 
Harrington,  J.,  67,  128. 
Hartz,  178,  179. 
Hayley,  128. 
Hazlitt,  W.,  8,  29,  30. 
Hebrides,  109. 
Helvellyn,  43. 
Helvetius,  255. 
Henry,  Prince,  133. 
Herbert's,  St.,  Island,  26. 
Hobbes,  11,  155. 
Holcroft,  56,  57. 
Homer,  175,  228. 

Hume, 'David,  20,  67,  86,  128, 

230. 
Huss,  182. 
Hutchinson,  Mary  (Mrs. 

Wordsworth),  7,  16. 
Hutchinson,  Sarah,  7. 

India,  112. 
Ireland,  150. 
Italy,  128,  193,  194. 

Java,  229. 

Jennings,  J.,  50. 

Johnson,  Dr.,  97,  98,  128,  131, 

230. 
Jonson,  Ben,  175. 
Judkin,  Rev.  Mr.,  259. 

Kant,  10,  89,  128,  143,  155. 
Keswick,  45,  85. 
Klopstock,  85,  194. 
Knox,  John,  139,  260. 

Lamb,  Charles,  56,  118. 
Latrigg,  50. 
Laud,  260. 
Lavater,  1 88. 
Leckie,  155. 
Leibnitz,  124,  128,  155. 
Leighton,  243. 
Lessing,  128. 


262 


INDEX  OF   PROPER  XA^IES 


Linnseus.  227. 

Lloyd,  Charles,  91. 

Lloj-d,  David,  l^n. 

Locke,  20,  12«,  131,  155,  157. 

Loch  Leven,  176. 

Lodore,  28. 

London,  7,  23,  194. 

Lorrame,  Claude,  242. 

Lupus,  178. 

Luther,  9,  128,  182,  201,  260. 

Lyceum,  162. 

Lyoniiet,  80. 

Maekhitosh,  Sir  J.,  5,  107,  167. 

Malone,  E.,  74,  75. 

Malta,  63,  70,  73,  83, 88,  91, 110, 

118,  122,  158,  166. 
Malthus,  Rev.  J.,  54, 
Marathon,  62. 
Marini,  G.  B.,  161. 
Martial,  134. 
Massinger,  175. 
Mediterranean,  72,  92. 
Metastasio,  140,  193. 
Middleton,  Sir  Hugh,  212. 
Milton,  12,  20,  61,  101, 128, 134, 

136,  181,  193,  214,  230,   250- 

252. 
Mohammed,  246. 
Moli^re,  128. 
Montagu,  Basil,  184. 
Moses,  227. 
Mylius,  Johann  Christoph,  31. 

Naples,  King  of,  72. 
Naucratius,  17. 
Nelson,  Lord,  200. 
Newlands,  43. 
Newmarket,  142. 
New  River,  209. 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  180. 
Nile,  17. 
Norway,  241. 


Okenist,  an,  246. 
Orleans.  Bishop  of,  178. 
Otter  River,  24. 
Otterton,  133. 
Ottery,  St.  Mary,  24,  133. 
Ovid,  140. 

Paine,  Thomas,  191. 

Paley,    Archdeacon,    29,    128, 

131,  224,  255. 
Paracelsus,  12,  196, 
Parisatis,  149. 
Parkinson  (Theatrum   Botani- 

aim),  49. 
Pascal,  128. 

Pasley,  Captain,  122,  130. 
Paul,  Jean  (Richter),  198. 


Paul,  St.,  79,  138.  ixdex  of 

Penelope,  Nature  a,  84.  pkoi'ER 

Peter,  St.,  181.  names 

Petrarch,  221,  222. 

Picts,  the,  109. 

Pindar,  142. 

Pitt,  128. 

Plato,  25,  112,  155,  253. 

Plotinus,  40,  41,  155, 

Polyclete,  162. 

Poole,  T.,  59,  130. 

Pope,  12S,  14(»,  197. 

Porphyrj'.  1.55. 

Port  Royal,  175. 

Porte,  the,  245. 

Price,  Dr.,  142. 

Priestley,  Dr.,  128,  131. 

Prince,  the  Black,  60. 

Proclus,  14,  52,  155. 

Proserpine,  93. 

Psyche,  75,  92,  93,  120. 

Pygmalion,  162. 

Pyramids,  the,  219. 

Quintilian,  18. 

Raleigh,  Sir  W.,  125,  212. 
Raphael,  242. 
Ray  (or  Wray).  John,  29, 
Reignia,  Captain,  75. 
Reimarus,  Herman  Samuel,  77. 
Rhone,  the,  221. 
Richardson,  Samuel,  140,  141, 
Rickman,  J.,  .56. 
Robertson,  William,  230. 
Rochefoucauld.  255. 
Rogers,  Samuel,  132. 
Rome,  Church  of,  48,  105,  181, 

182. 
Rome,  93,  174,  245. 
Russia,  143,  245. 


Scapula,  154. 

Scarlett  (James  Lord  Abinger), 

167. 
Schelling,  143,  155. 
Schiller.  127,  136 ;  his  Wallen- 

stein,  1.53,  178,  194. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  62. 
Sens,  178. 
Shakspere,   17,   20,  60,  61,  74, 

75,  82,  92,  97,  loS,  125,  127, 

128,  i:!(),  153,  243,  251,  252. 
Sharp,  Granville,  211. 
Sharp,  Richard,  167. 
Sheridan,  R.  B.,  34,  150. 
Shield,  228. 

Sidney.  Sir  Philip,  14,  128. 
Sinidiiidrs,  138. 
Skiddaw,  15,  16,  43. 
Smith,  Robert,  167. 

263 


INDEX  OF  PROPER  NAMES 


INDEX  OF    Smith,  Sydney,  107. 
PKOPER        Sorel,  Dr.,  91. 
NAMES         Sotheby,  William,  44. 

South,  39. 

Southey,  5,  23,  30,  91, 134, 187, 
246. 

Spain,  59, 128,  243,  244. 

Spenser,  251. 

Spinoza,  48,  68,  155. 

Staunton,  Sii-  G.,  229. 

Stephen's,  St.,  178. 

Stephen's  Thesaurus,  154. 

Stewart,  Sir  James,  1. 

Stoddart  (Dr.,  afterwards  Sir 
J.),  62,  63,  91,  113,  141. 

Stowey,  Upper,  121. 

Stowey,  Nether,  50. 

Strabo  Geographicus,  152._ 

Strada,  Prolusions  of,  155. 

Strozzi,  Giambattista,  190. 

Stuart,  Daniel,  105. 

Sweden,  241. 

Swedenborg,  242. 

Swift,_  Dean,  20,  128, 139. 

Swinside,  16. 

Switzerland,  109. 

Syracuse,  80. 


Taylor,  Dorothy,  133. 
Taylor,  Frances,  133. 
Taylor,  Jeremy,  10,  253. 
Taylor,  Thomas,  14. 
Teme,  valley  of,  21. 
Tenison,  Archbishop,  259. 
Theodorus  Chersites,  17. 
Theophrastus,  227. 
Tiberius,  30. 
Tibullus,  140. 


Tobin,  J.,  58,  118. 
Tyi-ol,  the,  241. 

Underwood,  Mr.,  57. 
Uuzer,  D.,  79. 

Valetta,  63,  122. 
Van  Huysum,  242. 
Varrius,  113. 
Vida,  222. 

Vincent,  Captain,  114. 
Virgil,  223. 
Voltaire,  128. 
Voss,  128.  194. 
Vossius,  113. 

Wade,  Mr.,  248. 
WedgAvood,  T.,  22,  77. 
Wliinlatter,  39,  42. 
White,    Mr.    (of   Clare   Hall, 

Camb.),  190. 
Wicklifee,  182. 
Wieland,  194. 
Wilberforee,  212. 
Willoughby,  Lord,  195. 
Wilson,  John,  50. 
Windybrow,  50. 
Withop  Fells,  39. 
Wollstonecraft,  Mary,  56. 
'Wordsworth,  Dorothy,  50. 
Wordsworth,  John,  111,  112. 
Wordsworth,  William,  3,  8,  24, 

25,  29,  50,  59,  60,  67,  85,  110, 

116,   124,  128,  138,   143,  144, 

175,  176,  187,  213. 
Wyndham,  34,  200. 


I  Zinzendorf,  242. 
264 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


r 


Accident,  a  curious,  98. 

Adages,  254,  255. 

Adhcesit  pavimento  cor,  118. 

Advice,  blunt,  58,  59. 

Affection,  225. 

Alas  !  they  had  been  friends  in 

youth,  52. 
"  All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all 

delights,"  189. 
Analogy,  7<5,  77. 
"  Anecdote,"  a  genuine,  184. 
Anecdotes,  a  sheaf  of,  56,  57. 
Animals,  the  instincts  of,  78- 

80. 
Anonymity,  241. 
Anthropomorphism,  11. 
AntieipatioiLs  in  nature  and  in 

thought,  115. 
Anti-optimism,  11. 
Aphorisms  and  adages,  254. 
Aphorisms,  or  pithy  sentences, 

214. 
Apology  for  Cottle,  an,  73. 
Apparitions,  235,  236. 
Araneosis,  97. 

Architecture  and  climate,  164. 
"Ascend  a  step  in  choosing  a 

friend,"  Talmud,  134. 
Ash-trees,  16. 
Asleep,  falling,  22,  23. 
Association,  190,  191. 
As  the  sparks  fly  upward,  93. 
Atheism,  242. 
Atmosphere,  149. 
Attention,  180. 
Attention  and  sensation,  109. 
Auri  sacra  fames,  37. 
Author,  a  conscientious,  186. 
Ave  Phcehe  Imperator,  52. 

Babes,  10,  37,  231. 

Bat,  6. 

Beast,  249. 

Beauty,  41. 

Beagar's  Petition,  The,  228. 

Bells,  concerning,  178,  179. 

Bibliological  memoranda,  154. 

Bird,  the  captive,  1(>3,  l(i4. 

Blank  verse,  Milton's,  214. 


Blind  Highland  Boy,  TTie,  by  index  ok 

Wordswoi-th,  175,  176.  subjects 

Blindness,  228,  229. 
Bliss  to  be  ahve,  a,  223. 
Body  of  this  death,  the,  233. 
Book,  of  a  too  witty,  237. 
Book-learning  for   legislators, 

241. 
Books,   77,   102,  109,  110,  154, 

155,  216,217,252-254. 
Books  in  the  air,  175. 
Botanical    Garden,   Darwin's, 

237. 
Bramble  arch,  a,  50. 
Bulls  of  action,  131. 
Butterfly,  75,  120. 

Calf.  24. 

Candle,  86.     See  Taper. 

Candor  another  name  for  cant, 

(i3. 
"Cast  not  your  pearls  before 

swine,"  ()7. 
Casuistry,  105. 
Cataract,  a,  243. 
Catholicism,    77,    78,  105,   121, 

259,  2(i0. 
Catholic  reimion,  181. 
Cattle,  179. 

Caution  to  posterity,  a,  134. 
C^est  magnificiue,  mais  ce  n''est 

pas  la  poesie,  218. 
Cherrj'-stone,  a  carved,  72. 
Chestnut-tree,  the,  139. 
Children,  SI,  191,  lil2. 
Children  of  a  larger  growth, 

172. 
Chimes,  260. 

Christahel,  19  ;  a  hint  for,  189. 
Christianity,  1(55,  195,  219,  220, 

244. 
Church  and  state,  15. 
Chymical  analogies,  172. 
Circle,  the,  82,  8.3. 
Clerical  errors,  the  psychology 

of,  153. 
Climate,  164. 
Ch)ck,  a.  2(i0. 
Clouds,  71,  106. 


265 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


INDEX  OF    Clove-tree,  196. 
SUBJECTS    Coal,  burning,  143. 
Co-arctation,  lot). 
Cogiture  est  laborare,  55. 
Coinimniicable,  the,  2(). 
Conipai'isons  and  contrasts,  4- 

6. 
Compassion,  230. 
Complex  vexation,  a,  240. 
Comprehensive  formula,  259. 
Conclusion  of  the  whole  matter, 

the,  225. 
Conscience,  177,  247. 
Conscience    and    immortality, 

170. 
Constancy,  257. 
Contingent      and      transitory 

things,  60-62. 
Convalescence,  215. 
Conversation,  21,  66,  67,   255, 

256. 
Conversation,  his,  a  nimiety  of 

ideas,  not  of  words,  87. 
Correspondence,  neglected,  54. 
Corruptis  opt i mi  pessima,  77, 

223. 
Country  and  town,  23. 
Courts  of  Admiralty,  98. 
Creation,  48. 
Criticism,  24,  141,  188. 
Critics,  poets  as,  108 ;   imma- 
ture, 108. 
Crowd  of  thoughts,  a,  49-51. 

Daisy,  6. 

Dandelion,  8,  9. 

Dangers  of  adapting  truth  to 
the  luinds  of  the  vulgar,  the, 
192. 

Deaf  and  dumb,  the,  233, 
234. 

Death,  100,  128,  129,  138,  202. 

Death,  early,  37. 

Death,  the  realization  of,  118. 

Death  of  Adam,  the,  42. 

Deism,  244. 

Demagogues,  165. 

Denying,  124. 

Destiny,  111. 

Devil,  the,  with  a  memory  the 
first  sinner,  137 ;  183  ;  a  re- 
cantation, 219. 

Dewdrops,  5,  159. 

Differences,  21. 

Distemper's  worst  calamity, 
106. 

Distinction  in  union,  156. 

Document  kumain,  a,  142. 

Doubtful  experiment,  a,  47. 

Doubt  to  faith,  through,  72. 

Draw,  learning  to,  57. 


Dreams,  24,  33,  34,  38,  42, 
46,  71,  99,  101,  106,  107,  113, 
137. 

Dreams  and  shadows,  146, 

Drink,  strong,  16. 

Drip,  drip,  drij),  drip,  224. 

Duelling,  132. 

Duty,  54,  55,  112,  117-120,  176. 

Duty  and  experience,  2. 

Duty  and  selJE-interest,  110. 

Eagle,  the,  243. 

Earwig,  79. 

Easter,  the  northern,  117. 

Eating,  good,  and  strong  drink, 
16. 

Edinhurgh  Itevieiv,  The,  186. 

Education,  of,  191. 

Eel,  an,  229. 

Ego,  the,  12. 

Egotism,  11,  12. 

Elegies,  133. 

Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard, 
by  Gray,  228. 

Empyrean,  the,  106. 

English,  230. 

EngUsh  artisans,  97. 

Enthusiasm,  117. 

Entomology  versus  ontology, 
79. 

Epigram,  a  divine,  231. 

Eternity,  131,  243, 

Ethics  of  Spinoza,  the,  48. 

Etymology,  104. 

Evil,  the  origin  of,  30-35  ;  pro- 
duces evil.  111. 

Experience  and  book  know- 
ledge, 109. 

External  solace,  his  need  of, 
141. 

Extremes  meet,  43, 157,  255. 

Eyes,  5,  126. 

Face,  a  phantom  of  the,  45. 

Faces,  two,  149,  150. 

Facts,  125. 

Facts  and  fiction,  63. 

Faith,  72,  152,  187. 

Falling  from    us,   vauishings, 

152. 
Feelings,  15. 
Fields,  green,  20. 
Fig,  an  Indian,  150. 
Final  causes,  73. 
Finite  and  infinite,  30-33,  68, 

()9. 
Fire,  reflection  of,  45;  99, 
First  thoughts  and  friendship, 

213. 
Fixed  stars  of  truth,  the,  217. 
Flame,  84,  93,  94. 


266 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


Flight  and  Beturn  of  Moham- 
med^ The,  24(5. 

Flower,  the,  K4. 

Flowers  and  liy:ht,  258. 

Flowers  of  speech,  227. 

Form  and  feeling-,  86. 

Fountain,  a,  121. 

Free  Version  of  the  Psalms, 
Cottle's,  198, 

French  language  and  poetry, 
the,  100. 

Friend,  a  former,  52. 

Friend,  The,  111,  180,  187,  195. 

Friends,  98,  and  note,  i;^4. 

Friendship,  19,  143,  198,  213, 
247,  257. 

Frogs,  (). 

Funeral  songs,  133. 

Gambling,  142. 

Gem  of  morning,  a,  159. 

Genius,  152,  196;  the  man  of, 
255,  256. 

Genius,  his  own,  107. 

Gentleman,  the  country,  241. 

Gentleman'' s  Diary,  8. 

German,  159. 

Ghosts,  123,  238. 

Gnats,  229. 

God,  30-35,  41,  48,  65,  78,  79, 
108,  112,  113,  117,  183-185, 
218,  242,  249,  254. 

Gods  and  goddesses,  conversion 
of  the,  93. 

Good,  the,  41. 

Gratitude,  6. 

Greater  damnation,  the,  236. 

Great  men  the  criterion  of  na- 
tional worth,  127. 

Great  unknown,  the,  241. 

Grief,  time  an  element  of,  26. 


Habits,  191, 192. 

Hail  and  farewell,  184. 

Half-way  house,  the,  165. 

Hamlet,  251,  252. 

Happiness,  2. 

Hai^piness  made  perfect,  120. 

Health,     independence,      and 

friendship,  210. 
Heart,  a  broken,  256. 
Heaviness   may  endure    for  a 

night,  202. 
Heroes,  174. 
Hesperus,  209- 
Hlnc  Ilia  marginalia,  77. 
Hope,  177,  240,  249. 
Hope  of  humanity,  the,  116. 
Hos])itator,  a,  57. 
House  of  Commons,  the,  136. 
Huuible-bee,  the,  243. 


Humble     complaint     of     the  index  of 
lover,  the,  161.  subjects 

Humming-moth,  the,  24)5. 
Hypocrisy,  177. 
Hypothesis,  of  a  new,  89. 

Idea,  the  birth  of  an,  92. 

Idealism  and  superstition,  234. 

Ignore  thyself,  255. 

Illusion,  122. 

Imagination,  verbal,  21  ;  199. 

Immortality,  l.'')8,  170,  171. 

In  a  twinkling  of  the  eye,  157. 

Incommunicable,  the,  25. 

Infancy  and  infants,  2,  3. 

Infinity,  30-33. 

Innocence,  37,  118,  119,  173. 

Inopene  me  cojna  fecit,  160. 

Insects,  44,  229. 

Instability  and  stability,  15, 16. 

Instincts,  81. 

Intellectual  purgatory,  an,  128. 

Intolerance  of  converts,  the,  62. 

Liward  light,  the,  40. 

In  wonder  all  philosophy  be- 
gan, 157. 

Islamism,  the  literary  sterility 
of,  243. 

I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  to  the 
hills,  85. 

Jacobins,  French,  12. 

"  Kingdom  -  of  -  heavenite,"  a, 
231. 

Kingfisher,  6. 

Kings,  149. 

Kite,  a,  39,  40. 

Knowledge,  and  understand- 
ing, 147 ;  a  royal  road  to, 
252-254. 


Landing-places,  132. 

Laud  of  bliss,  a,  243. 

Language,  11,  80. 

Lark,  an  old,  188. 

Law  and  gospel,  181. 

Learners,  slow,  64. 

Legislatoi-s,  241. 

Llbellidldce,  229. 

Liljerty,  5. 

Liberty,  the  cap  of,  172. 

Life,  156,  208,  258. 

Lifelong  error,  a,  250. 

Likenesses  and  differences,  21. 

Limbo,  18. 

Lines,  83. 

Llties  to  Mrs,  TJnwin,  by  Cow- 

per,  103. 
Littera  scrlpta  manet.  102. 
Love,  1,  2,  17  ;  the  adolescence 

267 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


INDEX  OF        of,  57 ;   the  div'ne  essence, 
SUBJECTS        lli> ;  and  duty.  118  ;  151,  loO, 
lt)l ;  the  ineffable,  lti2  ;  and 
Music,  169  ;  181),  197  ;  inde- 
structible, 212  ;  237. 
Lovers,  49,  159. 
Loves,  of  first,  129. 
Lucus  a  non  lucendo,  1G9. 
Ludicrous,  the,  7. 

Maddening  rain,  the,  130. 

Magnitude,  the  sense  of,  95-97. 

Maiden's  primer,  the,  1(55. 

Malice,  5. 

Mameluke,  a,  174. 

Man,  a  period,  in  the  life  of  a, 

165,    166;    172,   214;    a    de- 
praved old,  230,  231, 
Man  "s  a  man  for  a'  that,  a,  42. 
Many  and  the  one,  the,  65. 
Marriage,  135,  182,  199. 
Materialists,  11. 
Mathematics,  195. 
Mean,  the  danger  of  the,  51. 
Means  to  ends,  90. 
Memory,  66. 
Metaphysic,  the  aim  of  his,  35, 

a  defence  of,  43. 
Metaphysician  at  bay,  the,  90. 
Metaphysics,   2,   19,   157,   195, 

232,  233. 
Methodism,  21. 
Michael,  by  Wordsworth,  116. 
Minds,  great  and  little,  249. 
Mind's  eye,  the,  242. 
Ministers,  government,  200. 
Minute  criticism,  141. 
Miracles,  170,  171. 
Miseries  and  misery,  2. 
Misfortunes,  2. 
Mohammedanism,  243,  244. 
Moment  and  a  magic  mirror, 

a,  208.  ' 

Monition,  the  rage  for,  58,  59. 
Moon,  10, 15,  36,  49,  52,  64,  95, 

106. 
Moonlight  gleams  and  massy 

glories,  144. 
Moon-rainbows,  16. 
Moon  set,  a,  42. 
Moon's    halo  an     emblem    of 

hope,  the,  240. 
Mother-wit,  191. 
Motion,  the  psychology  of,  47  ; 

157. 
Mountains,  16,  24,  25,  28,  37, 

S5,  9(),  97. 
Multum  in  parvo,  72. 
Music,  135,  l(i9,  170. 
My  Lady''s  Handkerchief,  7. 
Mysterious,  the,  11. 


Mystery,  a,  177. 
Mythology,  121. 
Myxine,  the,  229. 

Name  it  and  you  break  it,  167. 
Nature,  115,  208,  209,  233. 
Nautilus,  79. 
Nazarites,  8. 
Necessity,  2. 

Nefas  est  ah  hoste  doceri,  64. 
Neither  bond  nor  free,  165. 
Ne  quid  nimis,  75. 
Night,  35-39,  42,  52. 
Nightingales,  6. 
Night  is  at  hand,  the,  260. 
Nightmare,  16(),  20(5. 
Night  side  of  nature,  the,  37. 
Northern  lights,  15. 
Noscitur  a  sociis,  27. 
Notebooks,  253,  254. 
Not  the  beautiful  but  the  good, 
41. 

Obducta  fronte  senectus,  230. 
Objects,  249. 
Obligations,  16. 
Observations    and   reflections. 

14-17. 
October,  bright,  28. 
Odes,  142. 
Official  distrust,  70. 
Omniscient  the  comforter,  the, 

108. 
One  and  the  good,  the,  52. 
"  One    music    as    before,    but 

vaster,"  142. 
On  revisiting  the  Seashore,  171. 
Opera,  the,  69,  SO,  81. 
Opinion,  hatred  of,  63. 
Opinions.  135. 
Optical  illusion,  an,  39. 
Orange  blossom,  114. 
Order  in  dreams,  113. 
Organ  pipes,  56,  57. 
Originality,  135. 
O  star  benign,  64. 
Over-blaming,  the  danger  of, 

168. 
Owls,  39. 

Pain,  2. 

Painting,  8,  135. 
Palm,  the,  .51. 
Paradise  Lost,  62. 
Pars  altera  mei,  40. 
Parties,  political,  188. 
Partisans  and  renegades,  147. 
Passion  for  the  mot  propre,  the, 

131. 
Past  and  present,  1 . 
Peace  and  war,  125. 


268 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


Peacock,  151. 

Pedantry,  29. 

Pen,  the,  100. 

Pencils,  liti. 

People,  the,  147  ;  the  spirit  of 
a,  244. 

Petrarch's  Epistles,  221. 

"  Phantoms  of  sublimity,"  143. 

Philanthropy,  self-advertisiug, 
211. 

Philosophy,  6G  ;  Coleridge's  in- 
debtedness to  German,  b9; 
21() ;  Platonic,  219  ;  221. 

Pine-tree,  a,  lo9. 

Pious  aspiration,  a,  180. 

Places  and  persons,  59-62. 

Plagiarism,  22. 

Play,  an  unsuccessful,  22. 

Pleasure,  2,  27. 

Poem  on  the  Spirit,  or  on  Spi- 
noza, 51. 

Poetic  license,  a  plea  for,  140- 

Poetry,  4,  50,  06,  129,  130,  135, 
139,  140,  157,  193. 

Poets,  18,  81, 108, 132,  197, 227, 
228.  _ 

Poisoning,  149. 

Populace  and  people,  147. 

Post,  the,  21. 

Practical  man,  a,  169. 

Praise,  the  meed  of,  241. 

Preexistence,  183. 

Prejudices,  9. 

Presentiments,  217- 

Pronoun,  a  neutral,  160. 

Property,  37. 

Prophecy,  the  manufacture  of, 
1()2. 

Protestantism,  259,  260. 

Prudence  versus  friendship, 
24(i. 

Pseudo-poets,  132. 

Psychology  in  youth  and  matu- 
rity, 184. 

Public  opinion  and  the  ser-' 
vices,  200. 

Puff" and  Slander,  231. 

PiUpit,  the,  200,  201. 

Punning,  190. 

Puritans,  224. 

Pyramid,  the,  82,  83. 

Quakers,  40. 
Quarrels,  91,  219. 
Quotations,  21. 

Races,  244-246. 

Rain,  224. 

Rainbows,   moon,   IG ;    in  the 

mist,  51  ;  87. 
Rattlesnake,  79. 


Recantation,  259.  index  of 

Recollection  and  remembrance,  subjects 

48. 
Reconciliation,  215. 
Reformers,  177. 
Religion,  53,  66,  117,  184,  224, 

225. 
Religious  enthusiasm,  156. 
liemedium  amoris,  225. 
Remorse,  10. 
Repose,  22. 

Research,  abstruse,  44. 
Rest,  157. 
Reviewers,  188. 
Righteousness  of  England,  the, 

240. 
Rivers,  221. 
Robin,  the,  164. 
Rosemary,  49. 
Royal  road  to  knowledge,  a, 

252. 
Rugit  leo,  255. 

Salt,  237,  238. 

Salve  for  wounded  var  -ty,  a,  70. 

Save  me  from  my  frituds,  224. 

Scandal,  224. 

Scheming,  89. 

Scholastic  terms,  a  plea  for, 
232. 

Schools,  public,  50. 

Science  and  philosophy,  221. 

Sea,  the,  73,  84,  85,  92,  158. 

Sea-gulls,  85. 

Secrets  23. 

Self,  the  abstract,  101, 102 ;  170. 

Self -absorption  and  selfishness, 
210. 

Self-esteem,  defect  of,  168. 

Self-esteem,  excess  of,  168. 

Selfishness,  210,  211. 

Self-love,  255. 

Self -reproof,  a  measure  in,  69. 

Sensation,  the  continuity  of,  8(5. 

Sentiment,  an  antidote  to  casu- 
istry, 105  ;  morbid,  143. 

Sentiments  below  morals,  131. 

Seriores  rosce,  231. 

Serious  memorandum,  a,  66.  i 

Sermons,  ancient  and  modem, 
200. 

Seventeen  hundred  and  sixty 
yards  not  exactly  a  mile,  237. 

Shadow,  150. 

Shells,  250. 

Ships,  72,  92. 

Silence  is  golden,  219. 

Simile,  a,  64. 

Sine  qua  non,  158. 

Sky,  the,  158. 

Slang,  religious,  50. 


269 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


IXDEX  OF    Sleep,  202,  203. 
SUBJECTS    Sleepless,  the  feint  of  the,  212, 
Snail,  79. 

Snails  of  intellect,  5. 
Snuff,  184. 
Socinianism,  20,  21. 
Solvitur  suspiciendo,  158. 
Sonnet,  an  unwritten,  250. 
Soother  in  Absence,  The,  57,  71, 

73,  80,  84,  97,  124,  135,  137, 

148. 
Sopha  of  sods,  the,  50. 
Sorrow,  20. 
Soul,  the,    17;  the  embryonic, 

88;  130. 
Sounds,  19. 
Space,  10. 

Speculative  men,  125. 
Spiders,  20,  229. 
Spiritual  bUndness,  228. 
Spiritualism    and    mysticism, 

233. 
Spiritual  religion,  117. 
Spooks,  238. 

Spring,  the  breath  of,  258. 
Spring  of  water,  a,  14. 
Square,  the  circle,  the  pyramid, 

the,  82. 
Stag-beetle,  the,  79. 
Staircase,  a,  133. 
Star,  the  evening,  64,  209. 
Stork,  the,  139. 
Story,  a  good,  21. 
Stramonium,  223. 
Streamy  association,  of,  46. 
Style,  230. 

Subject  and  object,  249. 
Suicide,  166. 
Sun-dog,  a,  82. 
Sunflower,  the,  149. 
Sun  of  righteousness,  the,  137. 
Sunset,  43,  215. 
Superfluous  entity,  a,  183. 
Superstition,  121,  225,  234-236. 
Supposition,  a,  117. 
Swinside,  16. 
Swiss  patriot,  a,  174. 
Sympathy,  19,  239. 

Taper,  a  newly  lighted,  64. 
Taste  an  ethical  quality,  139. 
Tatanaman,  196. 
Teleology  and  nature  worship, 

29. 
Temperament  and  morals,  27. 
Tender  mercies  of  the  good, 

the,  176. 
That  inward  eye,  the  bliss  of 

solitude,  208. 
Theism  and  atheism,  242. 
Things  and  Thoughts,  22. 

O 


Things  visible  and  invisible,  of, 

(M2. 
Thinking,      and      perceiving, 

10 ;    as    distinguished    from 

thought)  13. 
Thistle,  8. 
Thought,    and    thoughts,    22 ; 

a  mortal  agony  of,  53 ;  and 

things,  121 ;   and  attention, 

180. 
Thoughts,  and  fancies,  18 ;  22, 

160. 
Thiee   estates  of  being,   the, 

249. 
Time,  18 ;  an  element  of  grief, 

2() ;  and  eternity,  131,  243. 
Time  Real  and  Imaginary,  204, 

205. 
Time  to  cry  out,  a,  186. 
To  the  Evening  Star,  209, 
Transcripts    from   my  velvet- 
paper  pocket-books,  21. 
Transubstantiation,  51,  260. 
Treacherous  knave,  a,  23. 
Truth,  6,  139,  161,  185,  195. 
Truth,  the,  67,  68,  192,  193. 
Turtle,  80,  176. 
Turtle-shell  for  household  tub, 

a,  175. 

Understanding,  152. 
Understood,  the  wish  to  be,  19. 
Undisciplined  will,  the,  54. 
Unitarians,  11,  142,  219. 
Unitarian  schoolman,  a,  48. 
Universe,  the,  22. 

Vainglory,  172. 

Vanity,  70. 

Verbal  conceits,  91. 

Verbum  sapientibus,  86. 

Ver,  zer,  and  al,  159. 

Vice,  46. 

Vices,  gloating  over  past,  18 ; 

43. 
Virtue,  118. 
Virtues,  69. 
Visibility  of  motion,  the,  65, 

66. 
Visions  of  the  night,  in  the, 

35. 
Vox  hiemalis,  257.  . 

Wasp,  80. 

Water-lily,  136,  243. 

Water-wagtails,  151. 

We  ask  not  whence,  but  wliat 

and  whither,  75. 
Whale  and  trout,  4. 
What  man  has  made  of  man, 

223. 

70 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


Will,  free,  94. 

Wind,  257. 

Windmill  and  its  shadow,  the, 

()5. 
Winter,  257. _ 
Winter,  a  mild,  144, 
Wit,  237,  238. 
Wives,  ItJo. 

Woman,  a  passionate,  151. 
Woman,  of  the  frowardness  of, 

75. 
Words,  9,  74,  126, 131, 149, 153, 


154,   1.59,   190,  193-196,  225,  index  of 
228,232,233.  subjects 

Wordsworth  and  The  Prelude, 
24. 

World,  the  end  of  the,  157, 158. 

Worldly-wise,  194. 

Yearninff  of  the  finite  for  the 

infinite,  the,  6*^. 
Youth,  1.S4. 

Zemmi,  the,  229. 


271 


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